You're Not Alone
by LoudAutomata16
Summary: Detectives Stella and Jordan team up with PI Lincoln Loud to solve a series of mysterious murders. A story of romance, intrigue, and dark pasts follows.
1. Chapter 1

It was a beautiful day in Royal Woods, which was a rarity in Autumn. The Sun poured warm beams of light onto the city, and the sky was blue and open with hardly any clouds in sight. On a day like this, there was nothing Stella wanted to do more than just _be_ outside. Unfortunately, all the cafe's outdoor seats were occupied, so what was she supposed to do? Take her drink and notes to go sit at the dirty curb?

Stella sighed. "The coffee isn't even that good. I should've bought a mocha."

Oh well, it wasn't the coffee that mattered; it was the papers in her hands and detailed reports on her computer screen. Stella hunched her back as she leaned into the small writing on one of the pages she had brought with her, as if the killer's name was written somewhere in the fine print and all she had to do was find it.

Oh, right, the killer. Now would be a good time to mention that Stella Ang, aged twenty-four, was a detective.

It wasn't apparent from her clothing – a casual white hoodie, a plan T-shirt with a star embellishing it, and a short black dress – but she wore what she wore because today was supposed to be her day off.

Supposed to be.

Even on her day off, a day she was supposed to spend away from all the grizzly darkness and horror that the city could offer, she was pouring over notes and clues. She might as well have worn a trench-coat, just to complete the image of an over-worked detective in an unhealthy marriage with the job.

Then again, a trench-coat wouldn't attract the eyes she was getting now.

There was a young man sitting at a table nearby who kept swiping glances at her when she wasn't looking – or when he thought she wasn't looking. Stella noticed him every time he cautiously glanced up from his computer to stare at her for a single, blissful moment. One time, she decided to tease him by meeting his eyes just as he took a look at her, and give him a flirty little wink. His face turned redder than a tomato, and he ducked to hide behind his laptop. Stella had to stifle a laugh. Despite the teasing, she did find herself appreciating his affections. Nice to know someone found her pretty.

Her small smile faltered for a moment. She imagined what it would be like if… if she went over there and started talking to him. Would he… accept her? If he knew everything about her, that is. Could they start dating? Was a whole new life waiting for her with that nervous kid? He didn't seem that much younger than her – probably twenty-two, if she had to guess – so it wouldn't be impossible…

Stella bit down on her bottom lip, and shook her head. This wasn't the time to think about things like that. There was a killer on the loose, after all. Besides, she didn't exactly have a good record with dating and relationships in general. Especially her last one…

Her phone buzzed at that moment. Stella grabbed it and checked the name of the caller. "Speak of the devil," she murmured as she swiped the screen and accepted the call. "What's up, Girl Jordan?"

There was a growl on the other side of the call. "I told you to stop calling me that."

Stella giggled. Jordan Taber, known in her school years by the nickname she would come to hate, "Girl Jordan", was both Stella's favorite and least favorite person in the world. She was a lot of things to her: a best friend; a roommate; a partner on the squad; a partner that had broken her heart with those fateful words of "It's just not working out, let's just be friends"… she was a real mixed bag, but a bag Stella didn't want to live without. Still, she needed to bother her sometimes, if only to remind herself that… well, she didn't even know what she was trying to remind herself of.

"Anyway," Jordan continued, "I think I've found a lead in this case of ours. Someone who could really help us out."

"Jordan, it's my day off. No talking about detective stuff."

"Pfft. As if I don't know you. You're probably sitting at a cafe right now, drinking sludge and looking over papers."

Stella craned her head around the cafe. "Are… are you spying on me?"

"No. I just know you well. Well enough to know that, even though you want to be focusing on solving this case, you probably also have Tetris loaded up on your computer."

Stella had to check her tabs in Google Chrome for that one. There was, indeed, a paused game of Tetris on one of them. Probably from last night. Stella sighed loudly as she closed the laptop and stuffed it back into her shiny black briefcase, along with a manila folder and some loose papers. She wasn't getting anything done anyway. "You got me," Stella noted with just a hint of annoyance in her tone. She hated being predictable. Predictable didn't make a good detective. What did she have to do, put on a cheese hat and wave around a stupid wand?

"Of course I did. Now, back on topic, I've found someone who can really help us out with this case."

"Who? FBI?"

"Obviously not. He's a PI. Private Investigator."

"I know what PI means," Stella hissed. "And if you really know me so well, you should also know that I don't want to work with one."

Private investigators annoyed Stella. She thought of them as unprofessional, borderline-vigilantes that often got themselves and their clients in trouble because they didn't realize how mind-numblingly boring their line of work could be. Granted, most of them dealt with inconsequential cases of wives suspecting their husbands of adultery, but when they stepped up to something bigger, things could get bad.

"Come on, Stella, this guy knows what he's doing," Jordan insisted. "He's the kind of guy that could be a world-class detective if he signed up for the force. And he told me that he's already gotten some info that we could really use."

"And I have info that we can really use as well. Only I got it the legal way."

"Being a PI isn't illegal."

"Not until they start wiretapping phones and breaking into places. Like that one guy who tried to break into the Mayor's place."

She heard a sigh coming from the receiver. "You really don't want this, huh?"

"I don't. Sorry, Jordan, but I don't."

"Well, I was hoping to keep this a surprise," Jordan said coyly, "but this guy, this PI… he's a familiar face."

"What do you mean?"

There was a pause, followed by the familiar sound of Jordan wetting her lips.

"Remember Lincoln from high school?"

In that one second, Stella felt like someone had just dropped an anvil on her. It felt like Jordan had put her hand into the phone and slapped her across the face. Her grip on her phone tightened to the point of whitening her knuckles, and she whispered, in the soft stammer of a woman clinging to hope, "L-Lincoln?"

"Yeah, Lincoln," said Jordan much more casually. "Lincoln Loud, that scrawny kid with the white hair and freckles? Yeah, it's him."

For a moment, Stella felt like she couldn't breathe. Her eyes widened, her mouth gaped, and her heart stopped beating for a moment. Lincoln Loud? She… she didn't even think he was still alive! Tears began to well in her eyes as she remembered her old close friend. Lincoln, since she moved to Royal Woods back in elementary school, had always been one of her best friends. He had been by her side all the way into high school. He had always had a cute little puppy-dog crush on her, and Stella always politely turned him down…

She regretted every time she turned him away when she found out that he, in their junior year, had run away from home in the middle of the night and disappeared without a trace. She didn't hear anything about him for years, so she always assumed that he...

She tried to say something, but only a choking noise came out. She shot up out of her chair, snatched the cup of coffee and drank the entire thing in one loud slurp. She wiped her mouth messily, and asked the obvious questions:

"How did you find him? Where has he been this whole time? Why did he run away? Did it have anything to do with me? Why's he a PI now? How… how… how's he been all this time?"

Jordan didn't say anything for a moment. Stella heard her partner click her lips, before she decided to say, "I think you should ask him those questions yourself."

As much as Stella hated to admit it, Jordan was right.

Suddenly, she was aware of all the other patrons of the cafe staring at her like she was some kind of alien. Stella blushed, realizing she had caused a scene, so she bowed her head slightly, lowered the shoulders she had tensed up, and gathered her things as she walked out of the cafe. Still griping the phone like it was a lifesaver, she asked, "Okay, what time do you want us to meet up with him?"

"It's still your day off, Stella, so we can save it for tomorrow."

"Can we do this tonight?"

Jordan hesitated for a moment. "Sssssure," she reluctantly said.

A breath of relief escaped Stella's lips. "Awesome. Thank you, Jordan. I'll… I'll see you tonight. Both of you. I love you."

That was a bad Freudian slip. The _l-word_. Stella hadn't said that word to Jordan since they were officially a thing together all those millennia ago. She cringed when she heard herself accidentally say it, and cringed even harder when she heard Jordan audibly struggle over it. "See you tonight. I… love you too," the Caucasian girl muttered uncomfortably.

The call ended on that awkward note. If she wasn't in public, Stella would've bashed her head into the wall.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid…_

She was twenty-four years old, for Christ's sake! How, even now, after all these years, was she still acting like a teenage girl that didn't know how to handle her own emotions?! BFS was right – high school never ends…

But that didn't matter. Nothing, not even the serial killer stalking Royal Woods' streets, seemed to matter anymore. All that really mattered to Stella was that Lincoln Loud, her best friend gone into hiding, was finally back. She would see him again after so long. What did he look like now? Did he change much? Was he still into superheroes? Did… did he ever think of her while he was gone?

The more she thought about it, the more she thought about him… the more her heart started racing.

* * *

**Last year, I wanted to do the NaNoWriMo challenge (1,667 words a day, every day of November) but since I was busy with other stuff, I didn't. But I'm doing it now, baby! So let's see how long I can do this before I trip over my own feet. Remember, you're all welcome to make fun of me if I fail.**

**Special thanks to everyone I talked to about this, but an extra special thanks to The Siege Perilous. I'd almost argue he deserves more credit for this than I do…but I won't because I deserve all the attention! *w**_**aves fists like a petulant child***_


	2. Chapter 2

**anonymous789: ;-; Thank you. You were always good to me.**

**Guest: Yeah, it's a reference to Catherine Taber. I would've done the same for Stella, but I liked the surname Ang.**

* * *

Lincoln Loud didn't lead a very easy life.

He did at one point, when he was younger. Back then, back before the snot had cleared from his nose and when it was still okay to sleep with a stuffed rabbit, Lincoln had it all: a warm bed; nice meals; a family that he loved. There were no responsibilities beyond doing your homework and helping out with the dishes.

Lincoln, sitting on a lumpy couch in his small hovel of an apartment, glanced over at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, and frowned. _Things were so much easier back then, _he thought.

Maybe he made a mistake running away…

He shook his head, dismissing that thought. He knew why he did it, and while there were flashes of regret from time to time, he didn't agonize over his choice too much. He had to do it, after all.

Still, if he hadn't run away, maybe he would remember what food cooked by a loved one tasted like. Because despite what their advertising insisted, KFC and Mars Inc. and all the ramen cup producers didn't give a damn about him, and somehow he could taste that in every Snickers bar and Zinger he ate.

Sigh. Oh well, shit happens.

"You know what I need?" he declared to his empty apartment. "Some fresh air!"

With that, he stepped into the bathroom and stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror. He rubbed the side of his face, the thin hairs of his shaved sideburns scratching his fingertips, and he scowled slightly. _Definitely need to shave soon, _he thought. _Or maybe I can just pass this off as No Shave November. At least the barbershop won't get to _shave _off my wallet._

He chuckled lightly. Even after all these years without talking to her, Luan's punny sense of humor was still ingrained in his psyche.

He washed up a little, combed his hair to the best of his ability (_Go down, cowlick, go DOWN!_), then put on some outdoor clothes – his usual orange shirt and slack jeans – and went for a walk.

Memories of his latest case flooded him as he marched down the sidewalk. Like a noir detective novel, it all started with a dame in red coming to his "office" and giving him his case. It was the same as usual: she had a hubbie that sometimes smelled like other women, so she needed Lincoln Loud, Private Eye, to check it out. After several nights of stake-outs – which mostly consisted of Lincoln in his car, listening in on all the bugs he had planted while he wiggled uncomfortably in his seat and tried not to doze off – he found that the guy hadn't been cheating… he just worked at a perfume store.

When Lincoln confronted her about it, demanding to know how she didn't even know her husband's job, the woman fired back with _"Well, it took you a week to find out his job, Mr. Sherlock Detective Idiot, so cut me some slack!"_

Touche.

_Meow._

_No, not meow. Touche. Wait, what?_

Lincoln was pulled out of his thoughts by the soft cries of an alley cat, leaning and stretching on the wall he was walking past. Lincoln stopped and smiled; the cat was mostly black, with a few splotches of brown on its face. It reminded him of his childhood cat, Cliff.

He bent down, getting on one knee, and reached towards the feline. It hissed, more out of fear than hostility. Before the cat even knew it, Lincoln's hand was running all over its inky black coat, stopping only behind the ears to scratch.

The hissing quickly turned into pleasant mewling.

Lincoln let out a soft laugh. "Sorry I don't have any food with me," he apologized, "but I hope this'll make up for it."

He had heard from his old buddy Zach that cats didn't really like being touched, and that they mostly put up with it because they expected food in return. Looking down at the cat playfully squirming underneath his hand, Lincoln knew he was just full of it. How could a cute little thing like this be a scheming manipulator?

His hand stopped then. The cat stopped writhing and looked up at Lincoln's face. The smile disappeared, leaving behind a stony, thoughtful expression. The kind a man only gets when he's contemplating the theories of existence… or his own life.

"Stop thinking about the past, Lincoln," he ordered himself. "You got things to look forward to in the future."

That he did. What he had to look forward to was a reunion with Stella and Girl Jordan.

Lincoln was pretty wary of detectives and law enforcement (having had to evade them for so long as a runaway) but since he picked up his new gig as a PI, he found himself having to work with them more and more. He'd heard through the grapevine that some chick detective named Jordan was working on the serial killer case with a Filipina, and Lincoln couldn't believe his ears. _C-Could it really be...?_

It was. Before he knew it, he found himself confronting a wide-eyed Jordan Taber in front of the police station, who stared at him like she was staring at a ghost. He weakly smiled, raised his hand, and croaked, "Hey Girl Jordan."

He got slapped for calling her that. And then he got slapped again for running away without saying goodbye to anyone.

Eventually, they got to talking at a local diner. Lincoln watched as her soft features, bathed in the pinkish glow of flickering neon lights, slowly morphed from an upset glower to a relieved smile to a somewhat excited grin. "_Stella's really missed you, you know," _she had told him, _"so you coming back is really going to make her day. Especially if you've brought clues to help us out with this killer."_

"_Oh, Stella," _he said. He shifted uncomfortably on his stool._ "Did she ever… talk about me?" _

Lincoln had to admit it: he had a real strong crush on her back in the day. The really embarrassing kind that made otherwise functioning people turn into gibbering retards. Even now, though the raging inferno of his attraction for her had died down, the embers were still warm.

Girl Jordan, at that point, blushed and shifted her eyes to the side. _"Yes," _she had answered, weirdly formally. Lincoln was hoping for something more than a monosyllabic answer, but it was great news regardless of how it was delivered.

Speak of the devil, his phone began to ring. He pulled his hand away from his new feline friend, and before he even checked the caller ID, he knew it was Jordan. "Yo yo yo." He delivered that line completely and utterly deadpan.

"You trying to sound like a rapper?"

"Been thinking about a career shift," he sarcastically responded.

"Honestly, go for it. I'd have fun throwing you in jail for drugs," she teased.

"Just wait until the Democrats win next year. My main man Fidel Hassan Nguyen Goldstein's going to legalize all of them."

"God, I still can't get over his name. Anyway, I'm not calling to talk politics. I'm calling to tell you to be at my place tonight."

"Tonight? Why tonight?"

"Why is anything anything? Just be there."

With that, the call ended just as abruptly as it began. Lincoln glanced at his phone's screen, flashing the CALL ENDED message, and shrugged his shoulders. He stuffed his phone back into his pocket. The cat purred, and Lincoln whispered, "Listen, next time I see you, I promise I'll have something for you."

The cat, as if it understood what he said, got up and started walking away, tail high in the air. Lincoln rolled his eyes. "And now the cat's mad at me," he grumbled. "Typical. Just typical."

_Guess Zach was right after all. I wonder what happened to him?_

He continued on his way, though he found it less relaxing and more frustrating. He walked past rows of stores that he didn't have the money to buy anything from. Lincoln never liked window-shopping; as a kid, if he wanted something, he'd come up with some zany scheme to get his greedy little mitts on it. Schemes that always backfired, granted, but somehow produced a desirable result anyway. But thinking about that didn't help his growling stomach when he passed by a bakery and was hit in the face with the warm, buttery scents that flowed from the ovens within.

_Then again… maybe try one out for old time's sake?_

He stopped in his tracks. The bakery was owned by a man named Loni Lionel, a strongly pro-cop man who gave steep discounts to law enforcement. He was also pretty dumb. Pleasant, but dumb. Lincoln scratched his chin, but deciding _Fuck it _and walking into the bakery.

"Good afternoon!" Loni shouted from behind the counter, a beaming smile on his face. He reminded Lincoln of Leni (and not just because of the name and disturbingly similar appearance) which did make him pause for a moment. He felt twinges of guilt over what he was planning to do.

Then his stomach growled.

"Good afternoon, I'm, uh, Officer Loud," Lincoln said. Leaning on the counter, he reached for his thin wallet and showed Loni his private investigator ID, conveniently covering the word "private" with his finger. Loni's eyes widened, and he began nodding his head rapidly, like he was at a rock concert.

"Hello Officer. I've never seen you before. You must be new to the force. Anyways, I'm Loni Lionel, a man who proudly serves the boys in blue just as you serve us. I offer discounts on what I sell for police, which I admit isn't much, but hey, we all know how much you guys love your donuts."

Lincoln chuckled politely. "It's more than enough, thank you. It's good to see not everyone's all 'Fuck the police' these days. I, uh… I'll have a box of donuts. All chocolate."

"Coming right up~"

Lincoln did feel a little bad when he took the box and paid only half of what he should've. But then again, he would be, as of tonight, on the trail of a serial killer, so maybe he could cut himself a little slack.

He took a bite into his first donut, and grinned.

_The Man With The Plan's still got it._


	3. Chapter 3

A strong sense of reluctance washed over Jordan as she drove the car up to the driveway of her home. The lights were on inside, telling her that Stella was already home. Jordan suspected that she had been home for a long, long while. Maybe even before the sun went done. And honestly, she couldn't blame her. When Jordan told Stella that Lincoln was going to be their dinner guest, she couldn't help but feel like an archangel from God revealing hidden truths to the prophet on the mount… especially given the way Stella reacted.

Jordan parked the car inside the small garage. As she stepped out, she breathed in the dank, musty air like it refreshed her. It didn't, and to make matters worse she could smell something rotten in the air. Like a dead animal. Like a dead rat…

Jordan shivered. She wasn't the kind of girl to shriek at the sight of a mouse, but the image of a diseased little rodent climbing up her leg had terrified her since she saw a scene like that in a movie when she was a child. She remembered the little girl she had once been whimpering in fear at the scene, and remembered even more vividly the soft, strong arm of her father wrapping itself protectively around her, making her feel safe and secure against all the rats of the world.

_Dad…_

Jordan shook her head. _Don't think about him. Don't think about rats. Don't think about movies. Don't think about anything other than Stella, Lincoln, and this killer on the loose._

They called him the "Royal Woods Wendigo"; called him that because the sick fuck wasn't just happy killing people, oh no, he needed to feast on them as well. The first case that they suspected the Wendigo had a part in was probably also the most gruesome: a young girl, age eighteen years old, had a large chunk of her neck ripped off her corpse. And judging by the teeth marks found on her throat… it wasn't hard to conclude what had happened to her.

From then on, the Wendigo got a bit more refined, if that word could even be used here. The next victim – a short middle-aged woman – also had a chunk of her neck removed, but this time it seemed cleaner. By blade, Jordan had proposed. It was at this time that she had started demanding the chief give her and Stella this case. It wasn't until the third victim that he finally agreed.

There were two more victims after that. The victims were five now… five that they knew of, at least. Another shiver ran down the brunette's spine as she imagined how many other victims could be out there, buried in shallow graves or rotting in abandoned buildings, never to be discovered or avenged...

As far as she knew, there were only five victims. And she intended for there to be no more.

In addition to the cannibalistic aspects, the killings seemed to be motivated by another factor: hate. The victims differed in race and religion, but one thing they all held in common was that they were women. The theory was that the Wendigo was targeting women _because _they were women, which inspired Jordan to do some interviews with members of Royal Woods' unfortunately growing incel community. She stopped doing them after a while, though. The incels she interviewed were so frustrating and annoying and unhelpful that she found herself wanting to blow their brains out with her gun. Thank God Stella was there to take her outside before she actually acted on it.

In any case, there was still a ghoul out there that targeted young women, and… gee, actually, when you put it like that, Jordan could understand why the chief had been so hesitant to give them this case. It was like sending a black detective to investigate a Klan chapter; good way to get a good detective killed. And now that the public was getting more and more fidgety, more and more demanding from their protectors to, you know, protect them, the chief was telling them that they needed to solve this one soon or he'd call in replacements for them. Jordan wanted to be angry with him about that, but she honestly couldn't be. She couldn't be angry with him or the public or even herself. The only thing she could really rage against was the twisted human mind for its ability to dream up and act upon the most revolting horrors imaginable.

_Just like the horrors that made me a detective in the first place, _she thought darkly.

As she stepped out onto the grass, crisp air circled her, and she inhaled the freshness. Some of the dark things swirling in her mind started to fade away like bad dreams. And when she went inside her house, she found Stella jumping at the sight of her, then breaking into a fit of nervous giggles.

For the first time all day, Jordan's lips curled into a smile.

* * *

A few minutes later...

"Can you stop that?" Jordan barked at Stella across the kitchen table.

"Stop what?"

"Tapping your foot. It's annoying me."

"Right. Sorry."

Jordan sighed. Stella's sheepish tone made her feel guilty. She didn't mean to snap, but… honestly, she was just as nervous about Lincoln as Stella clearly was.

She found her eyes constantly flicking back to the clock. The pendulum of the clock on the kitchen wall swung back and forth, hypnotically drawing her eye and keeping it trained on it. In hindsight, it would've been smarter to give Lincoln an actual time instead of the vague, all-encompassing time of "tonight". What did tonight even mean to a private investigator? To someone like him, the entire night was his time. As far as Jordan knew, he might've been planning to show up at two in the morning with breakfast donuts and a dumb grin on his face.

Nah, he wouldn't do that. Even the most night owl-y of night owls had a sense of what normies meant when they said "tonight". Six, seven, eight, nine at the absolute latest… it was about eight, so there was still a chance he'd show up on time.

"Hey Jordan?"

Jordan turned her head to Stella. The tall Asian woman seemed to be debating whether to say something or not, but ultimately she gave in and asked, "Does Lincoln, uh, look any different?"

Jordan chuckled lightly. "I mean, obviously he does," she murmured jokingly. "Hmmm... he's still got the white hair, if that's what you mean. He's a bit more muscular now, but not like a gym rat or anything. And he's got facial hair… I guess that's new..."

"Mhm..."

One thing Jordan found great about Stella (well, one of many things) was that she wasn't exactly the best at hiding how she felt. She tried to fight to keep emotions off her face, but her big hazel eyes would always betray her. Now, they slunk down to stare at a tile on the floor, and as if she were a mind-reader, Jordan knew exactly how she was feeling.

Afraid. Hurt. Worried. Guilty.

"You're really taking Lincoln coming back hard, huh?" Jordan asked her friend softly.

Stella nodded. "I mean, he was one of my best friends back in school, so I'm happy to know he's… you know, _alive_. And I also… well, it's kinda stupid..."

"I don't think it's stupid, whatever it is."

"You're sweet." Stella smiled appreciatively at Jordan. Her cheeks burned like a cozy hearth. She swallowed a deep breath, then exhaled to calm her nerves. "It's just that… sometimes I wonder whether Lincoln running away... was partly my fault..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Jordan waved her hands wildly in the air, then slammed her palms on the table so hard the legs shook. "How was him running away your fault? No one even really knows why he ran away, and I doubt it was your fault."

"Well, I just… I don't know if you noticed this or not, but back then, he had a really big crush on me."

Jordan snorted. _If that was supposed to be a secret, he did a really bad job hiding it. Especially in eighth grade.'St-Stella! Buh-buh-buh!'_

"And I can't help but feel like… maybe if I didn't turn him away, he wouldn't have run away." The Asiatic girl rubbed her arm with an uncomfortable grimace on her face. "Maybe he just needed someone to talk to and make him feel appreciated… all I needed to do was show him I cared. And I didn't. Because I'm a bad friend."

"No."

Stella raised her head. "I'm sorry, what?"

"No," Jordan repeated. She shook her head for emphasis, her ponytail swinging with it. "You're not a bad friend, Stella. I've known you for more than a decade now, and I know that you're anything but a bad friend. I mean, look at you now! You're letting yourself get eaten up with guilt over something that happened years ago!" She paused for a moment, then gave Stella a kindly smile. "You're a good person, Stella, and a great friend. I'm sure Lincoln feels so. Because… because I know I feel so."

The sides of Stella's mouth twitched to the shape of a smile. "You… you really think so?"

"I do, Stella. I do."

Her pink tongue darted out to lick her satin lips. If they were still together, that might've been an invitation for a kiss. Stella felt a desire to press her lips to Jordan's mouth so badly that she visibly shivered.

Both girls were blushing now… but even though they were exes, it didn't feel especially awkward. It just felt… nice.

_Knock knock_

Stella jumped when she heard the knocking at the door. This was it! This was the moment she had been so anxious about. It felt unreal now that it was actually happening. Stella felt herself start shivering again, but this time, she felt something else with it.

She felt a hand placing itself gently on her arm.

She glanced up, and there was Jordan with her honey-like smile and affection teeming in her brown eyes. "Don't worry about a thing," she reassured. She then smirked, a toying, elfin light dancing at the tips of her mouth. "It would also really help if you didn't meet Lincoln with such clammy skin."

She then went to answer the door, leaving Stella alone in the kitchen. The room suddenly seemed more claustrophobic and dark. The tall shadows on the wall moved of their own accord, independent of their material masters. Every step she heard in the other room was matched by a loud, painful heartbeat. She squeezed her eyes shut as she heard two pairs of footsteps return to the kitchen.

"Stella?"

Exhaling, the young woman stood and faced them.

There, standing tall by Jordan's side, was a young man with ashy hair, faint freckles on his face, and an awkward smile.

Stella's eyes widened. _I-It's..._

The young man shifted his weight from foot to foot, then coughed lightly into his fist. When he finally spoke, a lifetime's worth of memories came back to Stella.

"Hey, uh, Stella," Lincoln Loud said with a reserved wave. "How, um… how have you been?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Hey, uh, Stella," Lincoln Loud said with a reserved wave. "How, um… how have you been?"

The shock of hearing Lincoln's voice for the first time in years left Stella unable to say anything. Her throat constricted as words failed her. Her brain scrambled to think of something, _anything_, to say to the friend she had just been reunited with… but her mind was as blank as her expression. So for a short eternity, Stella said nothing to him. All she could do was stare, her almond-shaped eyes so wide they instantly began burning. Lincoln lowered his hand during this uncomfortable silence, and the only noise he made was a faint cough. He looked over to Jordan for help, but the other woman shook her head. This was between them, as far as she was concerned.

Lincoln realized he'd have to break the silence. "Stella, I..."

"I can't believe it's you," Stella interrupted. Her voice was low and soft. She reached out to cradle Lincoln's cheek, and stroked it like she couldn't believe what she was feeling. "I thought you were dead this whole time. I thought you were dead, a-and that it was my fault..."

"It wasn't your fault," the young man responded, his words weighed down by guilt. He forced a wan smile. "It's not like you gave me the idea or anything."

She choked out a weak chuckle. "I guess I didn't do that," she said. Then she frowned. "Lincoln, why did you-"

"I'll tell you everything," he said, "but first can you, uh… back up a little?"

Stella didn't realize that she had been pressing her body up against his, and cradling his face like she was ready to kiss it. She yelped and took a few strides backwards. Her eyes were wide with embarrassment now, and her cheeks started to redden. "S-Sorry," she apologized. "I just… well, you know..."

"It's fine, it's fine," insisted Lincoln, his face also glowing red.

_I'm not saying I didn't like it or anything._

"If you two are done," muttered an increasingly-impatient Jordan, tapping her fingers on her arm as she watched her two friends fumble their reunion, "we need to sit down and work on this killer case. You two acting like you've never spoken to another human being before is getting in the way of that."

"Ah, come on, Jordan," Lincoln said, "you really need to lighten up. When did you become such a Debbie Downer?"

Wrong thing to say. She flashed him an angry look so intense he flinched.

"_When I signed up for this job,_" she said, enunciating every syllable for Lincoln to remember until his dying days.

Lincoln was stunned for a moment. _Something big must've happened to her while I was gone, _he quickly figured, _and I'm guessing it has to do with why she signed up to become a detective. Jeez, when I left, she was a smiling rich girl, and now she's a grumpy cop stereotype living in a hovel like this._

Calling it a hovel wouldn't exactly be accurate. It was a nice house, and in their day and age, just having a house at all was a blessing. Still, the house was dim from all the broken, inactive lights, and the floor was covered with loose hairs, dust, and stains. The place really needed a woman's touch...which, considering the inhabitants of the home, was ironic.

He didn't say any of that out loud, of course. He kept his trap shut as he and Stella followed Jordan into the living room. His eyes darted between the two girls, studying them and how they'd changed. For the most part, they looked a lot like how he would've imagined their aged-up selves: taller, longer hair, more developed bodies(~)… but there were subtler details that clued Lincoln in on their lifestyles. Jordan had dark bags under her eyes, and Stella had dandruff dotting her raven hair. Lincoln hummed; combining all that with the dirty house, he could only come to one conclusion…

_They actually CARE about their jobs! Like, to the expense of themselves!_

Lincoln knew being devoted, of course. But it wasn't to his job. He was almost gleeful in his ability to find chances to slack off and do nothing. Most investigators would freak if they didn't maintain their client flow, but Lincoln loved the slow days with no cases to work on. It gave him a chance to spend time with the people who knew his whereabouts when he went into hiding, after all...

But Jordan and Stella were different. They were cops. They were meant to protect and serve, to keep good and law-abiding civilians safe from the evils of those who stepped out of society's boundaries. Being a detective and a PI were similar in ways, but when Lincoln realized how much damage would be done to Royal Woods if they went easier on themselves… and he couldn't help but feel a glowing respect for them.

_Too bad we're on opposite sides of the law, _he thought. The memories of hiding from sirens and search parties were still too fresh on his psyche for his own liking.

"Lincoln, sit down."

"Wha?" He shook his head as Jordan's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. The two detectives were sitting down on the same couch, both eyeing him as he stood awkwardly in the corner. Cringing slightly, he sat down in a cushioned chair, right besides Stella. It was a bit too low, but he didn't complain.

"Soooooooo..."

"So indeed." Stella nodded.

"Guess I have to do all the talking around here," Jordan sighed. She stood up and balled her fists with righteous fury. Looking down at the towhead and the ravenette, she stated, "We all know why we're here. For months now, the citizens of Royal Woods have been targeted by a malicious and deranged killer: the Royal Woods Wendigo."

"Wendigo?" Lincoln snorted. "Not the name I would've chosen."

"Sucks you weren't in the news room that gave him that name."

He shrugged.

"Anyway… Stella and I have been working on the case for a long, long time. We've gathered testimonies, looked through security footage near crimes scenes, found some traces of DNA that were unfortunately inconclusive… but it's become clear to me that we can't keep going at it alone." Jordan's eyes then shifted towards Lincoln, narrowing in on him. "That's where you come in, Lincoln. You're going to help us catch this guy."

Lincoln nodded, smiling, and glanced over at Stella for a moment. He was dismayed to see that her eyes were aimed downwards, looking at her twiddling thumbs. His smile faltered and flickered; he looked like exactly like the young schoolboy getting ignored by the cute girl at the lunch table he once was. Jordan noticed Lincoln looking over at Stella, and found herself also frowning for a quick moment.

"Uh… yeah," Lincoln said dumbly, turning back to Jordan. "I'm still surprised you asked me to help you out."

"I had my reasons," Jordan said coolly. She casually glanced down at her fingernails, but when it became clear no one was going to ask her what her reasons were, she sighed and explained, "I was worried that the chief would transfer the case away from us if I asked for a helping hand. We're already skating on thin ice as is. Plus… well, I do think it would be nice to spend a little time with an old friend."

She gave Lincoln a small, almost shy, smile. Before he could return it, Stella suddenly gasped. It was like the gasp of a drowning victim brought back from the brink of death. She spun frantically towards Lincoln - who shot back in his seat - and sputtered, "Lincoln, just please tell me! I just… why did you run away? It's been eating me up for so long, and I… I thought I had done something bad to you, and that made you run away, and then you got hurt or killed..."

"Stella!" Jordan shouted. "What the hell is wrong with you? You're acting really weird!"

"I feel like I'm seeing a ghost, Jordan!" Stella yelled back at her. She jabbed her thumb wildly in Lincoln's direction. "Y-You know how guilty I've felt all this time!"

"And you know how I've always said your guilt is dumb and you have nothing to be guilty about."

"She's right, you know," Lincoln squeaked.

For a minute, the three were locked in a Mexican stare-off. Stella's pupils dashed back and forth between the shrinking Lincoln and the bewildered Jordan. In both cases, the looks on their faces were clear. Stella slowly began to unwind, and a sense of shame began to settle in. She slumped back into her seat, spilling out over the cushion, and wet her lips. "I… I think I need to go for a moment," she murmured as she stood. "To the… other room."

Jordan watched Stella leave. She bit down on her lip, unsurely. Glancing back at Lincoln, who seemed startled but also like he was trying to hide it, she shook her head and sighed. "Maybe this was a bad idea," she grumbled. "I think we need to do this some other time. Let's, um, meet up tomorrow. At a cafe or somewhere like that. That sound alright?"

"Sure."

Lincoln stood up from his chair, and Jordan walked with him until he reached the front door. He turned to her and asked, "Why's she acting like this?"

"I don't know," Jordan said with genuine confusion. Her tone hardened and became just a hint more accusatory when she then said, "Maybe it's because one of her closest friends ever disappeared mysteriously and likely died, and she's been wondering if she had anything to do with it for years. You know how closely she feels to her friends, and how doubtful she is of herself. To her, you running away must have felt like her own brother running away… running from _her_..."

Guilt speared Lincoln's heart like mistletoe spearing the Viking god Baldr.

"Regardless, I'll try to talk to her about it," Jordan promised him. "So...we'll see you tomorrow Lincoln."

"Yeah, sure. S-See you tomorrow."

She patted his shoulder, and streaks of scarlet colored her cheek. As she watched him leave, she felt the blush on her cheeks growing redder and redder.

* * *

In the bathroom, Stella stared at her reflection in the mirror. She could just barely focus on it, though. Her focus and thoughts weren't with her; they were with Lincoln.

_Why am I being so strange around him?_

He left her behind. He left everyone behind. But he was back now, and that was a good thing! Why couldn't she just accept it and move on from the past?

She thought about Lincoln some more. He really did look different now – Jordan downplayed how much manlier he looked, how much more rugged he appeared. Maybe he wasn't action hero/bodybuilder material, but he was a far-cry from the soft-faced teen she had known him as.

The more she thought about his strong features and masculine frame, the warmer she felt. The whole room seemed to spin around her. It wasn't until she felt her heart start beating and the butterflies in her stomach that she realized what was happening to her.

_Oh my God, _she thought. _Am I… am I in love with Lincoln?_


	5. Chapter 5

**AA25: While I don't give a definitive answer in this chapter, Lincoln does open up about it a little. There's a few clues as to what exactly took place.**

**Jeff: I'm curious as to what your theory is. I'd ask you to PM it to me, but… you know… **

* * *

After what happened the night before, Jordan felt like the best thing for Lincoln and Stella would be for them to talk things out before they went any further with their case. _Teamwork makes the dream work_, as her father had always said. The Royal Woods Wendigo would be tough to find even with their three heads put together, so the last thing Jordan needed was for one of those heads to be uneasy around one of the other.

Still, she had underestimated how much Lincoln's departure had hurt Stella. Granted, nothing would have clued her in on that little fact, but what could have told her that Stella was going to have an outburst like that? Part of Jordan wanted to just say Stella was being melodramatic, but the other part tried to be a bit more understanding.

_Urgh! I'm wasting time thinking about this!_

They'd meet up again today. Jordan had already told both Lincoln and Stella that they were going to meet up at that coffee shop in the Royal Woods Mall (there was no way someone as self-conscious as Stella was going to start a shouting match in public), but the more Jordan thought about it, the more she realized… well…

Her pink lips stretched into a sly smirk.

"This is going to be fun."

* * *

They were supposed to meet up at 2 PM sharp. _Supposed to_. Jordan made it pretty clear she wouldn't tolerate any lateness from him, which irked Lincoln all the more when, fifteen minutes later, neither her nor Stella were anywhere to be found.

_Serves me right for showing up on time for once._

Oh well, he'd bury his grievances with a warm cup of mocha latte. He wanted to get a snack with it – he was _really_ craving donuts this week for some reason – but unfortunately there was no Loni Lionel behind the counter to give discounts to people who didn't deserve them. Lousy "paying full price" policy.

_Maybe I'm at the wrong place? Maybe Jordan and Stella are waiting for me at some other coffee place, _Lincoln wondered as he raised the cup to his mouth. Warm, creamy liquid poured down his throat, and when he finished drinking he couldn't help but smack his lips with satisfaction. Lincoln wasn't particularly fond of coffee shop drinks – even as a grown man he'd prefer a Flippee or a soda – but he couldn't deny that these guys made the best lattes in all of Royal Woods. Surprising for a mall joint, but not an unwelcome surprise. _If I am in the wrong place, _Lincoln thought as he raised his cup for a second sip, _then I can stay wrong for all I care._

"Hey, sorry I'm late."

Lincoln's ear pricked at the sound of Stella's voice. He turned in his chair, ready to say something like "_Nah, it's fine" _or "_I just arrived two minutes ago, I'm not a loser that shows up early!"_,but when he saw Stella's attire, his words lodged in his throat.

She wasn't wearing her usual shirt-and-dress combo, nor was she wearing a detective's trench-coat. Instead, her lithe body was covered by an airy, yellow dress. The hem on her dress was lacy, as were the sleeves. The yellow color was a soft shade that made the already-radiant Stella glow with beauty. Her chest had room to stand out, giving Lincoln a prime view of how her mounds had grown. She didn't look like she was dressed for discussing a matter of public safety and security. No, she looked like she was dressed for a… a d-date…

Lincoln's beet-red face said it all to Stella as she sat directly across from him. She smiled sheepishly, and noted, "Do you like my dress? J-Jordan picked it out for me."

"You're beautiful," Lincoln mumbled. His eyes widened as he heard what he said, and he quickly corrected, "I mean, i-it's beautiful!"

Stella blushed. "Thank you," she said.

_Change the topic, Linc, before you say something else that's really stupid._

"So, uh, where's Jordan?" Lincoln craned his neck, as if he would find her hiding behind Stella.

"She dropped me off in front of the mall," Stella answered. "Finding a place to park was rough, so she told me to go ahead without her."

"I see. I guess that explains why Miss By-The-Books is so late. Seriously, what's her deal? She's gotten so grim lately. Every other word out of her mouth is 'job' or 'duty' or 'responsibility' or something like that."

Lincoln chuckled at his own observation, but Stella didn't.

She blinked weakly at him, then said, "You mean… you don't know why she's changed this much?"

Lincoln stopped laughing. He clearly hit on something serious. He shook his head, and in a low voice mumbled, "No, I don't."

The tip of Stella's tongue tentatively plastered itself to her upper lip as she debated whether to tell him or not. She felt like he had the right to know, and that he would find out eventually, but still…

"I think that's something Jordan should talk to you about," she finally decided. "All I can say is… there's a reason she's really devoted to being a detective. And it's not a happy reason."

"Ah, I see." An awkward pause. "A lot happened while I was hiding away, huh?"

Stella nodded slowly.

Lincoln leaned back into his chair, and rubbed his eyes. They didn't feel tired, but it was more about the show anyway – showing the world just how tired he was of it all. He hated the fact that he missed out so much of his friends' lives… and he hated even more that some of them had their lives go downhill. God, he could only imagine how his sisters' lives were going. Him running might've had a huge impact on them. Maybe he was being egocentric, but he honestly couldn't imagine Lola's pageants going well for her without him there to help her with practice. He couldn't imagine Lynn doing martial arts without him as a sparring buddy, or Luan doing birthday gigs without him carrying around all her props.

There was one girl, though, whose sadness he could imagine: the girl sitting in front of him. He got a taste of her feelings last night, and he didn't think he could ever forget that.

He sighed. He was hoping Jordan would show up and save him by the bell from the uncomfortable silence hanging above him and Stella, but it couldn't be helped; he needed to talk about the elephant in the room.

"Stella," he started slowly, "I… well, I don't know how to say this. It's about me, and why I… ran away."

The young woman felt her heart skip a beat, and not in the good way.

"Jordan told me… a little bit about how you felt." Lincoln rubbed the back of his head uncomfortably. "And I just want to tell you that you had nothing to do with it. Honestly, I don't even know how you got the idea that you had something to do with it."

"Then why?" she asked. "Why did you leave?"

Before he answered, Lincoln scooped up his cup and sipped the brown liquid within. By now, the mocha was tepid and lukewarm. It provided him little pleasure to taste it. Setting his cup down with a sigh, he paused for a moment of reflection, staring at the surface of the table, and at the reflection he could just barely see staring back at him. When he looked up, into Stella's eyes, she could see things something swirling in his light blue irises.

Pain.

There was a lot of pain.

"Stella, who would you say are the most important people in your life? The people you're supposed to love the most? The people who are supposed to take care of you the most? Who would that be?"

"Y-Your parents. Your family."

Lincoln nodded, slowly and solemnly. "Yeah. Your parents. Your family. I wish they had the same view as you do."

"What do you mean?"

He wet his lips, opened his mouth to say something… then faltered. He closed his mouth and ripped his eyes away from Stella's sympathetic face to look down into his cup. His drink was slowly turning to sludge, but it was still liquid enough for it to ripple with every vibration and disturbance. It brought to Lincoln's mind the real world ripple effect; how one small disturbance could have such long-lasting ramifications.

"My dad," he finally said, "forced me out."

Stella covered her mouth with her hand, shocked. "No!"

All he could do was nod. "He didn't kick me out. I chose to run away. But I only did so because he… well, both my parents, but mostly him… it's a real tough thing to talk about..."

"You don't have to."

"Really? Good."

He said that with the comedic timing of a joke, but there was no humor in his words. He huffed some air, and the mocha rippled to create multiple rings flowing from the center. The young man slumped back into his chair, his mood soured, and watched the ripples in his cup. _Story of my life, _he thought bitterly.

However, when he looked back up at Stella, at the conflicted expression on her face, he felt a sudden need to lighten the mood. His mouth curved into a halfhearted smile. "Hey," he said. When she looked up at him, he followed up with, "You said you thought me running away had something to do with you? Well… it's actually the opposite. You… you actually helped me out a lot. Just by being there. Just by being my friend."

"Really?"

"Really."

Just as Lincoln had hoped, Stella was now smiling. Without even realizing it, her hand crept over to Lincoln's arm and touched him. The touch of her soft skin sent crackles of electricity racing through Lincoln's body. His eyes widened, but he didn't say anything. Nothing to encourage… nothing to discourage.

"I just realized something," Stella said.

"What's that?"

"Jordan still isn't here."

Lincoln cocked an eyebrow, then looked around to see that Stella was indeed telling the truth. "Is parking really that bad?" he asked.

Stella covered her mouth and giggled. Her laughter was almost musical.

_I knew you still had a heart in there, Jordan._

* * *

**One sixth of the way there, boys. Nice of Jordan to give Stella and Linc some well-needed alone time, right? Well, the next chapter… isn't gonna be so nice...**


	6. Chapter 6

**Boris Yeltsin: I still don't know which of those pairings I prefer. I've liked Ronniecoln from the beginning, but Stellacoln has been growing a lot on me recently thanks to Stella being amazing in Tails of Woe and, uh, certain fanarts of the eneseffdubya variety :smirk:**

**anonymous789: Lincoln ran away during high school, so the events of NSL were ancient history by then. I felt it would be too obviously to make it NSL. And, most importantly, I hate NSL fics. **

* * *

In another part of town, only a short distance from the mall where Lincoln was fumbling to explain his most drastic life choice to Stella, there was a thin, squat apartment building. It wasn't an especially nice place; the exterior of the building was fine, but stepping inside would reveal a bleak image of poverty. Paint peeled from the walls, a rotten smell wafted from an unknown source, and the muffled sounds of domestic abuse and shouting echoed through the lobby.

The door opened, and someone stepped into the building.

Their entire body was covered and hidden: they wore shoes clearly too large for them; pants that covered every inch of the legs; and a black hoodie, with their hands jammed into the front pockets. The person hunched their back and jutted their upper body forwards, so that their face was hidden behind the shadows of their hood (which may have been unnecessary, seeing how they also wore a medical mask to hide their features). Everything about them was obscured; it was almost like there wasn't even a person underneath those clothes.

Or, more likely,… that they were trying to hide their identity.

Normally a guard would be there to stop such a suspicious-looking figure, but he was away for now. The hoodied one had made sure of it. They had stalked the building for almost an hour, peering inside and waiting for the portly man at the counter to leave. The moment he did, they sauntered inside.

With shuffled paces, they went to the elevator and hit the UP button. The button didn't light up, and the figure snarled with anger. "Come on," they growled. Their voice was distinctly feminine, so whoever it was underneath those garbs, it was clearly not a man.

The woman mashed the button with her thumb several more times until it finally started to glow its orange glow. When the elevator arrived, she hurriedly rushed in and selected the floor she wanted. With a slow hum, the doors of the lift began to come together, and the woman waited for them to close with bated breath. _Perhaps I should have taken the stairs, _she thought.

No matter. She waited patiently for the elevator to reach the second floor. When it did, the doors opened with a loud DING that hurt the woman's ears. Forcing herself to quickly get over it, she stepped out of the lift and began walking down the long, desolate hall. The woman didn't even raise her face from the ground to check the numbers labeling the rooms; she knew which room she needed to be in.

_The last one on the right, down at the end of the hall._

When she reached the last door in the hall, she lifted her fist to knock, but stopped just before she did. She brought her hand back down into her pocket, feeling around for her supplies. Something soft and wet… something cold and metallic… some money to get inside…

The mysterious woman grinned. _Perfect._

With that reassurance, she knocked on the door.

The sounds of someone stumbling over resounded from the other side, followed by footsteps scurrying towards the door. It opened, revealing a brunette woman in her mid-twenties, clad in a skimpy purple dress.

The woman lifted an eyebrow when she saw the hooded figure. She pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a puff of smoke. Craning against the door, she muttered, "So whaddya want?"

"Cookie?" the hooded woman asked. "Cookie Carmichael?"

"That's my name. Don't wear it out."

Cookie Carmichael: once an aspiring young woman with a wealthy background and a bright spirit that sought to conquer tomorrow. But as the saying goes, time makes kings out of beggars and beggars out of kings. Cookie was unfortunately in the latter category. She had, in high school, dated a shifty young man named Chandler, who introduced her to the world of needles. She developed an addiction quickly, began to steal in order to get money to supply her needs, and was finally thrown out of her home after she had threatened her younger siblings with a knife during a bender. When she woke up the next morning, she realized what she had done and regretted it, but it was too late: her father wouldn't let her return until she fixed her problem. She had no plans to do so, so she stayed away. She considered calling the cops, but considering that she was a thief and a druggie… yeah, that wasn't an option.

With no family or police to turn to, the pimps and prostitutes found her, and made her one of their own. That was partly why she didn't give a second glance at someone showing up to her door with their face pretty much hidden. Her apartment was a place of shame, after all. Who wants to wear their real face when they sin?

The hooded woman handed Cookie a crisp hundred dollar bill. Cookie frowned. "I don't do girls," she told her.

The hooded woman reached back into her pocket and revealed more dollar bills. She waved them in front of Cookie's painted face. The brunette smiled, and took the money. "Did I ever tell you how much I _love_ doing girls?"

Cookie stepped aside, letting the stiff stranger into her home. "Just give me a few minutes to freshen up," she called. The cloaked woman said nothing. She just walked in, closed the door behind her… and locked it.

Cookie was in her room now, money in hand. She reached for a small box she kept hidden underneath her bed, and stuffed the bills inside. She had saved up an impressive amount – what can she say? Business was booming – so she paused for a moment as she greedily began leafing through the various ones, tens, fifties, and hundreds in her mitts. "Three hundred… four hundred… four-fifty..."

She didn't notice the stranger she had just let in standing right behind her.

She didn't notice the stranger dip her hand into her hoodie's pocket and retrieve a pure white handkerchief.

She _did _notice, with cold shock, when the stranger grabbed her from behind and covered her mouth and nose with the handkerchief.

_No… no… NO!_

Survival instincts burst into Cookie's mind. She began wiggling and squirming in the stranger's grasp. She began jabbing her elbow back into the face and body of her attacker. The stranger, fortunately, had a weak grip, and Cookie heard her scream as she fell to the ground. But just as Cookie was getting up off the ground, ready to flee, the stranger's hand shot out and grabbed her by the ankle and pulled her back down to the ground.

"LET GO OF ME!" Cookie screamed. "SOMEONE HELP!"

Deep down, she knew no one was coming to help. No one ever came to help her neighbors when they cried out for it. Hell, maybe no one even heard her.

Cookie twirled her head to look at her assailant. She didn't see much of her face (even underneath the hood it was obscured by a medical mask) but she did notice her eyes…

Brown eyes. Wide. Wild. Angry.

Those words raced through Cookie's mind as the woman held her down and pinned the chloroformed cloth to her face.

She weakly struggled and tried not to breathe, but it was a losing battle. The other woman was stronger… or maybe it was Cookie that was weaker from years of substance abuse. It didn't help to dwell on that as Cookie's eyes began to water, filling with tears.

_I'm… g-going to die, _she thought. _I'm going to die h-here… alone…_

Her life began to flash before her eyes. Cookie saw herself as a happy little girl, trailing behind her smiling father and beaming mother. She saw her wide-eyed younger siblings looking up at her like she was the greatest, most amazing person in the world. At that moment, Cookie would've given up anything to see them one last time.

Her teary eyes began to close, and her arms fell to the ground.

"Fuck," the other woman growled. She fell back on her butt, panting as she watched her victim's body go limp. Her bosoms rose and fell with every strained breath she took. It was only until several seconds passed that the woman crawled over to Cookie's body. She put her fingers to the prostitute's neck to check for heartbeat. She felt the faint pounding, and her lips peeled back from her teeth in the form of a twisted smile.

She jammed her hand back into her pocket, and pulled out a long, thin, metallic knife. Blood was caked along the blade, the ruddy brown clashing with the shiny, pristine silver.

The woman clutched the knife with both of her hands, and raised it above her head. She looked down at Cookie with no sympathy, no remorse. Exhaling a cold breath, she brought the blade down and jammed it into Cookie's throat.

Blood spurted from the wound. The unconscious body shuddered and shook as the life began to seep from it. But it was a useless endeavor: within minutes, Cookie Carmichael was dead. Her blood spilled onto the carpet, and the woman licked her lips hungrily as she watched it flow.

Taking the knife, she sawed off a small piece of Cookie's neck. Taking the bloody meat in hand, she dipped it into her mouth and began to chew, smiling as she savored the flavor of human flesh.

"_Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. _I've almost forgotten how… satisfying a meal can be when you hunt it yourself."

She wasted no time in cutting off other pieces of Cookie's body – mostly taking from the neck, but also slicing pieces from the arms and legs – and putting them inside a plastic baggie. She cleaned herself up, tampered with the evidence like she had been taught to, then made a quick escape from the apartment.

Going down the elevator, the woman grinned the entire ride down. Her teeth were stained with the color of her sin.

_The Royal Woods Wendigo strikes again._


	7. Chapter 7

**That Engineer: I mean, I'd still feel bad for her. She got hooked on drugs, tossed out of her home, forced into hooking, and then died and was partially cannibalized. Pretty tragic, if I do say so myself.**

**anonymous789: Or maybe… it's Loan, the sinkid! She traveled back in time to start killing people, oh noooooooooes!1!1!1! :P**

**Guest: Yeah, her name was just chosen for the alliteration. **

* * *

The shrieking sound of sirens pierced the air when Jordan pulled up to the scene of the crime. She turned to look at the backseat of the car, meeting Stella and Lincoln's gazes with an intense glare. There was anger in her eyes for a moment, but it quickly faded into something more akin to guilt. She let out a hefty sigh. "We took too long," she said.

"We couldn't have known this was going to happen," Stella tried to weakly reassure.

"Doesn't matter. Someone died while we were wasting time at coffee shops," Jordan growled.

She got out of the car, Stella and Lincoln following her. They went into the apartment complex, up the elevator, and down the hall to Cookie's room. Yellow crime scene tape decorated the hallway. As they passed, Lincoln caught a quick glimpse of one of the other doors in the hall that was slightly ajar. One of the tenants was watching them with an inquisitive eye. When he noticed Lincoln looking back at him, he slammed the door, and Lincoln could've sworn he heard a hiss.

"Lincoln."

"Sorry. Coming."

A low hum of murmurs and whispers came from Cookie's room. Police officers littered the place. One of them saw Jordan and Stella coming, and nodded politely. "Detective. Detective," he said. When he caught sight of Lincoln, his features screwed up with unfamiliarity. "And who are you?" he asked the white-haired man.

"I'm a PI," Lincoln answered.

The officer shook his head. "No one's allowed in unless they're squad."

"He's with us, Ernie," Stella said.

"Doesn't matter. He can wait by the elevators."

Stella looked back at Lincoln apologetically. Lincoln rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. "Fine," he said, "I'll go wait."

"Good man," Ernie said, with an undertone of distaste and annoyance. He watched Lincoln slink off, and turned his head back to look at Stella. He scanned her clothing with his eyes, and his grimace instantly evaporated. "You look nice," he told her.

"If you're done, can you please just show us the body?" Jordan growled at him.

Ernie nodded, and took them inside the apartment room. It was exactly what Jordan would've expected from a hooker's place: smelled bad, looked weird.

She and Stella went down into the bedroom, where the body was still laying on the ground. Blood splattered over the carpet and the hanging bed-sheets. When the two detectives first looked upon the face of the victim, they didn't recognize who it was. It was only after a few seconds of staring that Stella gasped in horror.

"J-Jordan… is that… d-doesn't she look like… C-Cookie Carmichael?"

Jordan's teeth sank into her lower lip, and she slowly nodded. "Yeah," she said solemnly. "That's her."

Stella shivered, and felt herself on the verge of hyperventilating. Her eyes began to water with tears as she remembered the Cookie she knew back in high school: she was so smart, so kind, so full of life and energy...

And now she was on the ground, dead, in an apartment room that stank of sex and death.

She felt someone wrap their hand around hers; it was Jordan. The brunette smiled reassuringly at Stella. "It's okay, I'm here. It's okay."

Stella blushed. She started to gesture to the outside. "Do you mind if I-"

"Yeah, take a few minutes," Jordan said. "Go ahead."

Stella thanked her, then began striding towards the door. She put her hand on the handle, then turned back to her friend. "I'm surprised you aren't feeling so jittery about this," Stella said to her. "You really do have steely nerves, huh?"

Jordan exhaled a sigh. "She's dead. Getting scared and worked up isn't going to help her now. Catching the guy that did this will."

When Stella stepped out, Jordan immediately pulled out a small camera and began snapping pictures. Much like the other victims, there was missing flesh all over her body; slices on the arms and legs and most notably the neck. _Knifework, _Jordan thought. She took a picture of each wound and mark, careful not to touch any of the caked blood on her corpse.

When Stella rejoined her, the first thing she did was point at Cookie's face. "Her eyes are closed," Stella noted. "You think she was unconscious when it happened?"

"Most likely. She would've woken up if she was just asleep. She was chloroformed."

"How do you know she was chloroformed?"

Jordan bent down and sniffed her face. Her nose crinkled at the odor. "That's how I know. She was _definitely _chloroformed."

Stella stepped away from the body. She walked over to the side of the bed, looking for any extra signs of struggle, when a glint from underneath the bed caught her eye. Curious, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of leathery gloves. After she put them on, she knelt on the ground and retrieved the mysterious object. It turned out to be a box that was full of money.

That made Stella pause.

She pursed her lips as she recalled how, in previous murders, the Wendigo would always take two things from the victim: their skin and their money. But here was a huge box full of cash that could, as an estimate, easily value thousands. It wasn't even bloodied; it was perfectly untraceable! Why didn't the Wendigo take any of it?

"Jordan, come take a look at this." Stella beckoned to her partner. Jordan waddled over to her, and looked into the box at all the money stored within.

"I see… hey Stella, can you do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Take some of that evidence and put it in your pocket. I could really use a new pair of shoes."

Now, to the rest of us, that joke would seem cruel and in poor taste. But Jordan and Stella were detectives who'd seen their fair share of horrific crime scenes. At a certain point, the mind becomes unnerved and stressed from the constant presence of death, and develops mechanisms to cope. Dark humor was one method, and it was what helped Stella and Jordan stay sane.

Or who knows? Maybe they were both already nuts by now.

* * *

Jordan and Stella made sure to drop Lincoln off before they went down to the station. They offered to drive him home, but he insisted that they let him off at the nearest Burpin' Burger joint. "There's no dinner at home anyways," he told them. Once they pulled into a parking lot near a BB restaurant, he left, but not before looking Jordan in the eyes and making her promise that she'd share all the details with him, even if they were classified.

"I'll see what I can do," she told him.

They drove down to the station, parking underneath a blinking street light in the front lot. The yellow-orange glow really revealed how their faces glistened from nervous sweating. Neither of them wanted to be here. But there was no point in delaying the inevitable, so the two marched into the building.

The police station was rather calm. In the excitement of having a serial killer in town, it was easy to forget that Royal Woods was otherwise a peaceful place. Most of their "serious" cases were low-level drug offenders and unruly teenagers. Sure, there were also gangsters and dealers and pimps, but even they kept their heads low. Everyone kept their head low.

Except for the Wendigo.

_Bars, _Jordan thought sardonically.

Captain Hector Rodriguez waited for the both of them. He was a thin Hispanic man, whose most notable feature were the deep, dark bags under his eyes, the result of years of stress and late-night shifts. He was a man dedicated to the his job of keeping Royal Woods safe, rivaling even Jordan.

"You know what I just heard on the local news?" he grumbled when Jordan and Stella came into his office. "They said that the only reason this Wendigo fucker is still out there is because I'm terrible at my job. One of the hosts even called me a 'useless diversity hire.'"

Stella coughed uncomfortably. "It's just the media, sir. They're always looking to make things racial."

"When you mix serial killer hysteria with a baiting media, you get a riled up populace. And when you get a riled up populace, you end up with my job on the line." He sighed, then rubbed his weary eyes. "Jordan, Stella, please tell me you two have a lead on this sicko."

"We have leads," said Jordan, "but nothing conclusive. We're waiting for footage from the security cameras in the building where the latest murder took place. That might help shed a light on who we're looking for."

"And what if it doesn't? Do you have a profile?"

Jordan lowered her eyes shamefully to the ground. "Not exactly. This Wendigo is good at throwing us off his trail. There are shoe-prints, but they come in different sizes. The dogs can't sniff anything out due to the killer's use of perfume, meat and, uh, urine samples to confuse them. And eyewitnesses are in very, very short supply."

The Captain said nothing for a moment. He leaned back in his chair, eyes still trained on the two like a hawk. His fingers came together and wrapped around each other. He pressed his face into his hands, and his glare seemed magnified.

Finally, he said, "I know this all takes time, but with the media snipping at me… I might not be here the next time you two step into this office. And the next guy might not have as much confidence in you two as I do." He sighed, then rubbed his face. "I'm not telling you two to rush, but if there's anything you two can do to find this guy, do it. I'll cover for you if I have to. My ass is grass either way, so all that matters to me now is that the citizens are safe."

"We, uh, we've begun working with a private investigator," admitted Jordan. "He's very good. I'm sure he'd be a great help in this case."

"Oh?" Captain Rodriguez raised an eyebrow. "What's his name?"

"Lincoln Loud."

"Lincoln Loud? Isn't that… isn't that the name of that missing kid from a few years back?"

"D-Different Lincoln Loud," Jordan interjected.

"Doesn't matter. Private investigators need money, don't they?"

"I was, um… I was hoping we could tap into police resources..."

"You mean you want me to pay an asshole with a magnifying glass using taxpayer money so he can help out with a case that he should have no part in."

Jordan said nothing.

Again, Captain Rodriguez sighed. He scratched his shaven chin as he contemplated the idea of it. He _could _make it happen, but the idea didn't thrill him. At all. Getting a PI wrapped up in a criminal case was something he should've been discouraging, and the chance of this leaking out and getting his superiors' barking at him and tossing him to the wolves (not even metaphorically, Police Chief Morris was a hardcore man) was great. Almost too great to even risk it…

_But it's not about me, _he said to himself, _it's about keeping the people safe. And if Jordan trusts him… fuck it, she's never given me reason to doubt her…_

"I'll… consider it."

He winked at the two detectives, and they understood.

The two left the police station, heading for their car. Stella suddenly stopped in her tracks. Jordan stopped as well, turning her head to watch as Stella raised her hands to her mouth and began whispering something too low for her to hear.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Nothing," Stella said. "You can go ahead to the car. I'll catch up."

Jordan shrugged, then turned tail and kept on walking. Stella returned to mouthing into her hands, and as she was slowing down, she looked up at the night's sky. Her eyes shimmered as she finished her prayer.

_I hope you're in a better place, Cookie, _she thought as she gazed at the face of the heavens.


	8. Chapter 8

It took a while, but eventually the footage caught by the security cameras in Cookie's apartment complex was delivered directly to Jordan and Stella. Jordan had requested both physical and digital copies for her work, and she was obliged. She kept the physical tapes for herself, and forwarded the digital video clips to Lincoln. Once she was done doing that, she sat down in front of her TV and began to watch.

The footage was barely any good. It was blurry and colorless. To make matters even worse, there was a dark stain in top corner, as if a bird had flown into the building, perched itself on the camera, crapped on the lens, and then flew off to shit on someone's car. Jordan, frustrated, ended up taking the recordings to her computer, where she spent hours trying to adjust the footage with saturation and zooming so that she could at least see _something _useful.

Eventually, she broke through. She was finally able to see what she needed to see. Her hands gripped her coffee cup as she watched pedestrians and tenants walk in and out of the lobby. No one seemed especially suspicious until a figure wrapped in baggy clothes entered the scene. Jordan squinted and leaned in as she watched the hooded figure walk gracelessly through the lobby and towards the elevator, their face hidden in their hoodie the entire time. _Interesting, _Jordan thought. Her finger crept towards her keyboard and sped up the footage. She stopped minutes later when she saw the same person re-emerge from the elevator. They strode out the building, but this time they walked with a hurried, rushed quality.

"Like someone escaping a crime scene," Jordan muttered.

She tapped a ballpoint pen to her mouth as she debated with herself whether this mysterious person was the culprit. The timing lined up, the behavior seemed suspicious, and while it was cold outside, it wasn't nearly cold enough to be so wrapped up in clothing - they were very clearly dressed that way to protect their identity. At least, that's what it really, really, _really_ seemed like they were doing. Jordan didn't want to jump the gun, but she decided that, in any case, this person would be her prime suspect.

She wanted to zoom in and start checking the details of their suspect, but by now her eyes were burning and tired. She rubbed her grainy eyes, then reached down into her drawer to retrieve a small yellow notepad. Jotting down the timestamps, she called in Stella and let her handle the rest. "I'm going to get something to drink," Jordan told her, "and just spend some time looking at nature to fix my damn eyes."

"I have some nice pictures of Mount Dulang-dulang. It's my country's second highest mountain, and it has really beautiful scenery," Stella said proudly.

"Are those pictures on your iPad?"

Stella nodded, and Jordan shivered. "I don't think I want to look at screens for as long as I live," she grumbled.

"She'll get over it," Stella chirped to herself when she was alone. She sat down in Jordan's place, sighing with pure relaxation as she felt the warmth of her seat. She blushed when she realized that was Jordan's own heat transferred to the chair, then her smile fell as she remembered how warm Jordan's body was back in the old days. The image of a nude Jordan pressing herself against a similarly-nude Stella as they slept together, smiles on both their faces, crept into her mind and smacked Stella with a painful feeling of longing.

_Maybe one day, _the poor bisexual thought. _But now it's time to get to work._

Stella tried to zero in on the exact features and deets of their suspect, but they had done a good job of disguising themselves. By the time Stella was done, she couldn't determine the gender, skin color, ethnicity, hair color, facial features, weight, or age of the individual, thanks both to the poor quality images and the suspect's concealing clothing. All Stella came away with was a vague approximation of their height: somewhere between 5 foot 3 inches and 5 foot 6 inches. That… helped.

Actually, it did help a little. Using that height as a reference, and seeing that the suspect wasn't especially overweight, Stella quickly calculated a weight of 170 pounds, give or take a few.

_Come to think of it, _Stella thought as she jotted her estimated numbers down, _isn't that the average for women in the United States? I mean, I know Jordan is pretty close to these numbers._

She opened up Firefox and did a quick search. She grinned from ear to ear when she saw that she was right.

_Yes! _She fist pumped in celebration.

She looked down at the notes she had made: so far, she had the profile for a twenty-something year old woman with an average height and weight. A frown crossed her face when she realized that profiling their suspect wasn't that simple: the hooded figure in those tapes could be a teenage girl who was taller than average; or a young man that was shorter; or maybe a foreigner, in which case all United States statistics were worthless. And that didn't cover the fact that, even if Stella's hypotheses were correct, there were many adult women with those specifications. Without a face to attach to it, they were just chasing a five-and-a-half foot blob.

But hey… it was still something.

* * *

The same video Stella watched was playing on Lincoln Loud's phone when it happened.

The private eye had been strolling peacefully through the park at night, his hands jammed into the deep pockets of his jacket, when he suddenly felt a vibration. He pulled out his phone and checked the notification. It wasn't anything important; just another update reminder for him to ignore. His phone was jailbroken, and he was pretty sure that everything he had on it would be deleted if he updated. He _could _have just not jailbroken it, but how was he supposed to get unlimited spins on his Coin Master game without jailbreaking his shit?

Anyway, pulling out his phone reminded him that he needed to look over that footage Jordan sent his way. So when he came to a park bench, he sat down (after making sure there were no bird dookies on it) and opened the video files Jordan had sent his way. They were pretty large, but thankfully his phone had a lot of gigabytes. Two-hundred-fifty-six, to be accurate.

How could he afford a phone with that much memory space?

Rich people would willing to pay _a lot_ to make sure their wives weren't cheating.

He opened up the first video and began watching. A lot of it was dull filler, so he swiped over a lot of footage until he spotted motion. Even then, it was just a slow series of random people walking in and out of elevators. Lincoln's eyes quickly glazed over with apathy.

_This is so boring!_

Lincoln was used to boring, obviously. There were times where he spent entire days cooped up in a room watching a single bedroom window (not for that reason, you pervert!). But the difference was that at least then he had some snacks with him, and the room he squatted in was incubated. Sitting on a hard public bench in the cold season on an empty stomach while there was a whole beautiful park waiting for you to get off your phone and explore it… something about that set-up made the whole experience that much more intolerable.

He groaned and started to slide in his seat. _I need action, _Lincoln thought miserably.

The god of action must've read his mind, because at that moment, he heard a woman cry out, "Help me! My purse!"

Lincoln jumped up from the bench and looked to where the woman's voice came from. It was dark out, but he could clearly see the silhouettes of two people fighting over what looked like a handbag. _Finally! _Lincoln thought excitedly. Without a moment of hesitation, Lincoln rushed over to the two. As he got closer, the thief – a disheveled, ragged ginger – succeeded in snatching the purse from the older woman. He turned to run, but was quickly knocked down to the ground as Lincoln tackled him from behind.

The two tussled in the grass, rolling and throwing punches at each other. The man tried to clip Lincoln's face, but the PI had the speed to dodge his flying hand. Lincoln curled his right hand into a fist and punched the man in his face. It was strong enough to break the man's nose, but he howled in agony all the same, and let go off the purse as he rolled out of Lincoln's grasp.

"Ow, that hurt!" he shouted. His voice had a raspy, guttural quality to it. Clearly he was a man who'd destroyed his vocal chords with smoking.

"Yeah, that's kinda the point," Lincoln told him.

He grabbed the purse off the ground, and held it up like a trophy. The woman rushed over and took it from him, then ran off without a single word. Lincoln felt a little offended (_What? No thanks? Come on!_) but as he looked down at the thieving man cradling his bleeding nose, he realized he had something more important things to focus on.

"What're you, a cop?" the redheaded man growled as Lincoln pulled out a pair of plastic handcuffs and tied them around his wrists. He shook like a fish trying to escape into the sea, but Lincoln wouldn't let him budge an inch.

"Yes, I am," Lincoln fibbed. Cops commanded a little bit of respect, and maybe the guy would stop wiggling if he thought he was one.

The criminal cast an angry eye at Lincoln's face. His teeth were grit and grinding into each other. Lincoln was sure he was preparing for an enraged outburst.

But then... something strange happened. The man seemed to simmer down. Lincoln watched as the anger on his face died down, his lips coming together to hide the yellow canines he was baring. His face screwed up with confusion as he studied the "cop" that was arresting him. Sparks of recognition seemed to glint in his pupils. Finally, the man gasped.

"L-Larry?"

"Larry? My name is Lincoln, you… wait… _Chandler?!_"


	9. Chapter 9

"L-Larry?"

"Larry? My name is Lincoln, you… wait… _Chandler?!_"

Lincoln's eyes widened to the size of planets when the redhead he was arresting shot him a toothy grin and nodded. "That's my name," he rasped. He wiggled his hands and arms and pointed his eyes at the plastics bands wrapped around his wrists. "Now if you could just do me a favor here..."

"O-Oh. Right. Sure thing."

The revelation of the thief's identity left Lincoln stunned, so he felt like a passenger in his own body when he unzipped the cuffs and took a sharp step back. Now that he had a second look at the man who claimed to be Chandler... he really did look a lot like Chandler. He had the same shaggy red hair and dark green eyes, mixed with an immutable smug quality on his face that just made you want to punch him. Hell, he still wore heavy greens, but his clothing now wasn't as fashionable or cool as it was back then. Back in high school, Chandler would wear shredded jeans to _look_ homeless. Now, he wore them because he probably _was _homeless. Lincoln reached down and helped the poor guy up, and rather bluntly asked, "What the hell happened to you? You look awful."

Chandler scowled. "As if you're one to talk, Larry. You look like you haven't seen a razor in your life."

"My name is Lincoln," Lincoln repeated in a growl.

"Lincoln? Oh, did you get a name change when you ran away? Damn, must've been something really bad if it made you run away and change your whole identity."

Lincoln tried to detect any sarcasm in Chandler's tone. If there was, he couldn't pick up on it. Sighing, he said, "It's a long story, and one that you probably don't want to hear. To make it short, something happened at home, I ran off, and now I work as a PI."

"PI? Thought you said you were police."

_Shit, _Lincoln thought. _Change the subject. Quick!_

"You didn't answer my question, Chandler? The hell happened to you?"

"Right. Me." The young man fell silent for a few moments. He tugged on his dirty, dusty green shirt, and checked out his baggy camo pants, shredded at the knees and covered in moth bites. His gray worm of a tongue ran over his dry lips as he wracked his brain for some kind of a way to spin this as something cool. Eventually, he gave up the effort, and let out a groan. "My life went way downhill, man. High school was like a bitch with a strap-on; she fucked me over hard."

"Weird figure of speech."

"Write what you know." He shrugged. "Anyways, it's was all like… one day I was the king of the school. I threw the best ragers and smoked the dankest herb. That's probably where I went wrong. Weed was like a bitch named Mary Jane with a strap-on; she..."

"...fucked you over hard, yeah, I heard the metaphor."

"It's more of a simile, really."

"Sorry, I ran away before the English teacher got to teach me the difference."

Chandler barked out a harsh laugh, and even Lincoln couldn't stop himself from cracking an amused smile. Funny how things worked out in this world: Chandler and Lincoln almost never got along back in the day. They weren't exactly "enemies" and neither really bullied the other, but it always seemed like every single one of their interactions was laced with a mutual dislike that neither bothered to hide. The most memorable instance of this was during freshman year, where a young Chandler had annoyed Lincoln by rapidly tapping on his shoulder, asking for a pencil before a test. When the white-haired teen turned around to face Chandler, pencil in hand, it seemed like he was about to stab Chandler's eyes out with it.

"In any case," Chandler continued when he stopped laughing, "it sorta went from one thing to another. Smoking pot in the bathroom turned into injecting heroin on Sport's Day. My old man found out, and boy, he was not happy. Like, at all. Threw me out on the street without a second thought."

"Really? Just like that?"

Chandler scratched the side of his head, face grimacing with confusion. "Memory's a little hazy," he admitted. "I think there was also that time I stole his trophies and sold them for drug money… also he was my step-dad and he didn't like me that much in the first place, sooooo..."

"I… see," Lincoln muttered. "I'm so sorry about all that."

"Nah, nah." Chandler waved his hand dismissively. "It's not like you did anything to make me like this. There were also some good times with the bad! I got to date Cookie back then. All the way up to third base. Heh heh... honestly, she was sweet."

"Wait… Cookie? Cookie Carmichael?"

Chandler nodded, then looked off into the distance dreamily. "She was really cute," he whispered. "And hot, of course. Only the best for the Chan-train. She was such a good girl when we first started dating, but by the end she was just as bad as me. Heh, but still, she was an angel. We ended on bad terms, but maybe I can look her up..."

The young man stopped speaking when he noticed the grimace on Lincoln's face. "What?" Chandler asked, cocking his head to the side.

"You… you haven't heard?"

"Heard what? Oh shit, did she get married to someone else? Damn, that sucks."

"N-No." Lincoln shook his head. He clapped his hand on Chandler's shoulder, and looked him dead in the eyes. The emotion on his face was unmistakable, even to a drug-addled mind like Chandler's. He shivered as it began to dawn on him what Lincoln was trying to tell him.

"Lincoln… come on, man, don't leave me hanging. T-Tell me."

The cracks in his voice just made Lincoln feel all the more worse.

"She… she died," Lincoln told him. "Just two days ago. She was killed by the Wend-"

"No way!" Chandler growled. "Did that… did that Wendigo fuck kill her?!"

Nervously, Lincoln nodded.

It looked like Chandler was about to have a terrifying meltdown. Lincoln took another step back as the heartbroken man began to shake with fury. He clenched his fists tightly, long fingernails digging into the pad of his palm. His teeth began grinding against each other. His face was alight with a raging inferno borne from his soul…

...then, just as quickly as his rage was spawned, it died.

He slumped down to the ground, his body limp and weak. His face became a twisted image of misery. Water filled his eyes, but he refused to allow himself to cry. To cry was to be weak, he had always taught himself, and even now, in the face of the death of the girl he loved, he couldn't allow himself to shed a single tear.

He felt someone put their hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, man," Lincoln said softly. "Let it out."

He tried to fight back against it, but the tears forced their way through. With a sharp cry that pierced the silence of the night, Chandler fell to the dirt and began to openly, unashamedly, weep.

"_WHY HER?!_" he shouted at God. "_WHY TAKE HER? TAKE ME INSTEAD, I'M JUST SHIT!_"

His whole body quaked as he sobbed; the streams of tears on his face like sparkling waterfalls. Lincoln hovered awkwardly over him, unsure of how to console him, or if it was even possible to console him. One thing that registered for him was surprise: he was surprised to see Chandler like this. The Chandler he knew was detached and self-centered, and would never have been reduced to a shaking fit of crying.

_He must have really loved her, _Lincoln thought. Sympathy for his old rival flooded into his heart; he knew how painful it was to never be able to see loved ones again…

After several minutes of shouting and sobbing, Chandler wiped the wetness from his face with his sleeves, and got off the ground. His throat burned more strongly than it already did. He looked at Lincoln with such strong sadness entrenched in the wrinkles on his face that Lincoln worried that he might start thinking about…

"When's the funeral?"

"Wh-What?"

"When's the funeral, Lincoln?" Chandler grunted.

"I don't know," Lincoln admitted truthfully.

A sad sigh flowed from Chandler's lips. In the cold it became visible vapors; ghosts of regrets unsaid. He jammed his hands back into his pockets and snorted loudly. Casting a sideways look at Lincoln, he pursed his lips and chuckled humorlessly. "If you're gonna citizen's arrest me for snatching that old lady's purse, you can do it now. I don't have any fight in me anymore."

"It's fine," Lincoln told him. "You've suffered enough today."

"I guess I have." Chandler reached up to scratch behind his ear. He stuffed his hand back into his pocket when he was done, and began to walk away. Lincoln stood passively motionless as Chandler took his slow steps away from him. He paused in his tracks, then looked over his shoulder back at the private investigator. Hints of his smug smile returned to his face, but his eyes didn't glow with the same self-confident spirit he was known for. They were now dull, gray, and dead.

"You're a good guy, Linc," Chandler said, "so don't take this personally, but… I honestly hope I never see you again."

Lincoln said nothing, so Chandler turned and went on his way. Lincoln watched as the blackness of the night slowly engulfed him, and soon, he was completely gone.

Frozen like a victim of Medusa, Lincoln felt no urge to move. He exhaled as slowly as he inhaled, and soon a cloud of steam filled the air around him. It was only the sharp howl of a dog at the glowing moon that reminded Lincoln that he needed to head home.

As he marched out of the park and towards the street, Lincoln's mind was filled with images of himself and his classmates when they were younger; Jordan, Stella, Cookie, Chandler, himself… they all seemed so much happier in adolescence. They weren't runaways and prostitutes and thieves and drug addicts yet. They were normal kids, just trying to find their place. Maybe they, as a group, would've fared off better somewhere else, in a country or world where parents never threw their children to the streets… or where drugs didn't spread through communities like rotten seeds for the Devil's harvest… or where no one ever died…

Lincoln wasn't sure a place like that existed anymore. Living at the bottom of society for so long dragged his faith down to match his lifestyle.

The faces in his mind changed. His peers from school were replaced with his peers from home. He thought of his sisters, and though his heart was jabbed momentarily by hatred, there was something tender in his soul that he could never suppress when his mind went to think of them.

"I hope… I hope they're doing better than I am," Lincoln muttered.

His mutterings attracted the interests of an alley cat. It hopped out of a dumpster to watch the young man pass, and watched him walk farther and farther away, until he was nothing more than a silhouette…

...which too was swallowed by the abyss.

* * *

**I kinda wish I could've spent more time on Chandler's scene. Best I could've done with my current update schedule, but I could've done more...**


	10. Chapter 10

**Guest: Yeah, I was mostly thinking about Chandler's portrayal in fanfics when I wrote that part. Portraying him as a bully (especially one that would get physical) always confused me. I understand why people do it, but still…**

* * *

"_Are you going to… take it off for me?_"

Stella couldn't tell whose voice was whispering in her ear, or whose lips were trailing kisses down the side of her face. She seemed stuck in place; powerless and helpless as a pair of semi-visible hands toyed with her body. She was topless, with only a thin layer of clothing covering her sex. She listened to herself moan as fingers delicately massaged her hard nipples and slowly moved downwards to the land between her legs. A single hand dipped into her underwear, sending a current of electrical energy through her body. A groan, laced with desire, escaped her wet lips as the hand started to rub her swollen nub.

"_Does this feel good, Stella?_"

"Y-Yes," she panted. She was melting into putty in the mysterious stranger's hands. Arousal began to leak from her slit, and Stella felt herself rocking her hips to grind them on the fingers playing with them.

"STELLA, LOOK OUT!"

"What?" Stella shot her head sideways to see younger versions of Lincoln and Girl Jordan standing behind a glass wall. They slammed their fists impotently against it, screaming at her. Terror beating her heart like a drum, she glanced at her mysterious masseuse…

A pair of sharp, evil brown eyes glared at her from underneath a pure black hood.

"_dOeS tHiS fEeL gOoD, sTeLlA?" _

Stella tried to free herself from its grasp and get away, but found, to her horror, that she was completely paralyzed. All she could do was scream as the figure bared a mouth full of gleaming white fangs, and lunged right for her throat…

Stella shot up in her bed, a scream pressing against her mouth. She covered her face before she could let it out, and for minutes sat there in terrified silence, clutching her face and rocking herself while her eyes widened until they stung from dryness. The only sounds that broke the quiet were the shaky gasps she tried to suppress.

_It was just a nightmare, Stella, _she told herself. _It was just a nightmare. Calm down._

After several minutes, Stella forced herself to calm down. She uncovered her mouth and breathed in the cool night air. It was soothing for her shot nerves.

Stella hadn't had a nightmare in so long; she had almost forgotten what it felt like to have one, or what it felt like to wake up from one. But the stresses of work and, more importantly, the horrific scene she came across in Cookie's apartment must've unsettled her in more ways than she expected.

She rolled back onto her side when she finally calmed down. She closed her eyes and tried to get back to sleep. She couldn't, though; her mouth was too dry and tasted terrible. "I'll go get a drink," the young woman muttered. Peeling the blanket off herself, she stepped onto the floor with bare feet. She hissed at the coldness that stabbed at her soles.

Where were those damn slippers when you needed them?

Oh, wait, there they were. In the corner. Yay!

Going down the stairs, Stella didn't expect to see the lights in the kitchen open. She paused for a moment, worried that a burglar had broken in. Then she shook her head and chuckled at herself. _Of course it's not a burglar, silly. It's probably just Jordan. It's norma- wait, what's Jordan doing up this early?_

Stella checked the windows in the living room; it was still pretty dark outside. Jordan wasn't exactly an early bird (then again, even most early birds would find two in the morning to be a little extreme) so Stella couldn't help but feel confused. The only thing that confused her more was when she sniffed the air and smelled a fragrant scent coming from the kitchen. It smelled like… warm milk and chocolate.

Well, she was a detective. Time to investigate.

When she came into the kitchen, she found Jordan sitting at the table and staring off into the distance while a warm cup sat beneath her face, the warm vapors dancing as they floated towards the ceiling. Jordan didn't notice her for a moment, but when Stella politely coughed, her head shook and she looked at her housemate. A small smile crept onto her face. "Hi," she said softly.

"Hi yourself," said Stella. The Asian pointed at the mug Jordan had abandoned on the table. "Are you making hot cocoa?"

"It's warm milk with chocolate. It's different than hot cocoa… I think."

Stella didn't know enough about hot cocoa to tell the difference either.

"So what are you doing up at this hour with a cup of milk?" Stella asked.

"I could ask you the same thing. Minus the milk part."

"I… I had a nightmare," Stella admitted. She rubbed her arm sheepishly; she felt a little pitiful complaining to her friend that she had a nightmare. _Mommy, mommy, I had a bad dweam. _But she knew Jordan wouldn't be the type to laugh at her.

And she didn't. "Must've been really bad if it's keeping you awake," Jordan noted, sympathy buried underneath her words. "What happened in it?"

"Well..."

How was she supposed to answer that? _So I was getting an erotic massage from some invisible anon - and it was really hot, too. Anon had the fingers of a GOD! – when suddenly I saw preteen-Lincoln and preteen-you screaming at me to get out of there, and then I turned and saw that Anon was actually the Royal Woods Wendigo. What a twist, right? _

Yeah, that was probably something she needed to keep to herself. It didn't seem like Jordan was in the right mood to talk to her ex-girlfriend about her wet nightmares.

"...I dreamt about the Wendigo," Stella finally answered after a pregnant silence.

"Ah, I see. Sounds horrifying. I don't get why that would make you blush, though."

Stella realized she had been blushing thinking about her dream, and that made her blush even harder. "A-Anyways," Stella said to change the topic, "what about you? I doubt you literally woke up before sunrise to make some chocolate milk."

"I didn't wake up. Because I didn't get any sleep at all," Jordan admitted. "Just went to bed and ended up staring at the ceiling for a few hours. Then I came down here to make myself a drink to help me to get to sleep, and then you popped in and started giving me a Soviet-level interrogation about it."

"I'm not interrogating you about it. Although… why chocolate milk?" Stella asked with no self-awareness.

Jordan's thin smile disappeared. She looked down at the mug of steaming beverage, and sighed sadly. "It's what my dad used to give me," she said, "whenever I couldn't sleep."

"Oh… I get it..."

"Yeah." Jordan looked down at her cup, away from Stella. The rising steam hurt her eyes, but she didn't want to look away. The warm milk in that cup wasn't just a helpful remedy for bouts of insomnia; it was something nostalgic and cozy passed onto her from her father. She grabbed the handle of the cup and lifted it to her lips, but she barely held it an inch above the table before she put it back down.

She wasn't going to cry. She had shed enough tears over her father and mother... enough to know that nothing – especially not crying – was going to bring them back.

Jordan glanced back up at her partner, her smile slowly making its way back. "Hey Stella," Jordan said to her, "do you remember how we first… became a thing?"

"You mean our first hook-up?"

"Yeah."

_How could I ever forget? _Stella wanted to say.

Instead, she opted for, "It was the day of the… funeral. I was with you at the cemetery because I didn't want you to be alone. And when it was all done and you said your goodbyes, I went home with you. Just to make sure you'd be okay. And when we were in your room, you pushed me on the bed, started ripping off your clothes, and said..."

"'_...I just need something to make me forget._'" Jordan nodded soberly.

"After… that, you and I started dating. We even went into the same career, just like we promised each other. But after a long while..."

"We broke it off. I… I broke it off... between us." Jordan rubbed her face rapidly, her mood completely shot. She was on the border between being frustrated and exhausted, and it felt like her head was ready to explode. She took a calming breath, expelling all thoughts of the things she lost and threw away, and looked back at Stella.

Stella, Jordan realized, was the perfect girl.

No, really, she really was the perfect girl: she was beautiful with her bronze skin and long legs; she was kind and always willing to help someone else; she was forgiving and sweet and generous and smart…

She was all those great things, and Jordan hurt her.

Stella would never admit it, but Jordan knew she had been hurting ever since she broke up with her. She had started an intimate relationship with her in a moment of flighty emotion, strung her along for months and then years, then broke everything off just as suddenly as she had started it.

It was all her. Her dragging along a Stella that wanted nothing more than to make her best friend feel a little better… and she was too selfish to even notice it.

"Stella, I'm sorry. And I don't blame you if you hate me."

"I don't."

"You should."

"I shouldn't. That's why I don't."

She looked like an angel in Jordan's eyes; a pure smile crossed her face as she looked down at her despondent friend. If anything was going to make Jordan cry that night, even more than the heat from her drink or the memories of her father, it was that gracious, infinite smile that she did nothing to deserve.

"Thank you," said Jordan. "I… I still love you, you know."

"I do. It's why I haven't moved out yet."

Jordan giggled. She then pushed the chair out from the table and stood up, stretching her arms to the ceiling. In her tight sleep-clothes, her toned stomach was shown off for a few seconds to Stella's hungry eyes. When she finished stretching, Jordan yawned, and looked towards the stairs. "Think I'm tired enough to hit the hay now," she said. "I'll… I'll go to my room now. Um… good night, Stella."

"Good night, Jordan."

The Filipina watched as Jordan climbed up the stairs to the upper floor. She seemed… a little weighed down, but given her tiredness, it was to be expected. Stella was ready to head up as well when she remembered she didn't get that drink she wanted.

Her eyes moved to the table. A warm glass of untouched chocolate milk stood proud.

_Would be a waste not to drink that…_

Stella grabbed the cup, lifted it to her mouth, and drank its contents.

It was the best chocolate milk she had ever had.


	11. Chapter 11

**anonymous789: I hesitate to call Jordan selfish, given the circumstances (you'll see more about that later, of course). Inconsiderate, though… definitely. **

* * *

The next morning, around seven a.m., a bleary-eyed Jordan entered the kitchen, announcing her presence with a bellowing yawn. She found Stella buttering a bagel with a plastic knife, and nodded curtly at her. Stella nodded back. It was agreed then; neither of them would bring up the events of last night. That was the kind of subtle communication the two needed to keep each other's company.

"Are we going down to the station today?" Jordan asked as she headed towards the refrigerator.

"Well… yeah. It's a part of the job. You know… going to work."

Jordan rolled her eyes. "Oh please. I bet if we asked Rodriguez nicely enough, he'll let us stay home and give us a promotion for it. I'll be honest… I think he kinda likes us."

"Of course he likes us."

"Not that kind of like. He _like-likes_ us."

"Oh..." Stella's cheeks flushed red as she considered the possibility. He had always been exceptionally nice to them, though Stella had always assumed that it was because he was just a kind guy. "I don't really think so. I think he just wants to stay out of our way. But if he does actually like one of us… boy, is he in for a disappointment..."

Jordan chuckled mean-spiritedly. Pulling an apple out of the fridge and taking it to the sink, she looked over at Stella and asked, "What? You don't like guys anymore?"

"I like guys my age. Who aren't my superiors at work," Stella muttered nonchalantly.

"So someone like… let's say, Lincoln?"

Her cheeks were red before, but now they were full-on crimson. Stella let out a small cry as she raised her arms defensively and waved them around, splattering butter all over the table. "What?! What would make you think that? H-He's just a friend!"

"Jeez, calm down." Jordan bit into her apple. It was an extra juicy apple, so the cidery liquid inside started to flow down the sides of her mouth. She wiped her face with a napkin before saying, "I was just messing with you."

"S-Sorry. It's just… you're not really the type to mess around. Especially not lately."

That was true. Jordan wasn't the type to mess around.

That's why she wasn't.

"He's not a bad catch. That's all I'll say," Jordan muttered. She sauntered off past Stella and out of the kitchen. The loud, wet crunches of her teeth sinking into the apple echoed throughout the house, though Stella barely registered it. She weakly picked up her bagel and began eating it. Her thoughts were elsewhere as she tried to enjoy her breakfast (as much as one can enjoy a cold bagel with only butter on top).

What was Jordan implying there? Why bring up Lincoln specifically? Granted, he was probably the only male their age who popped into mind when talking about males their age, but Stella knew Jordan well enough to know that she never said anything for a reason as shallow as that. There was something behind it. Was Jordan implying that she liked Lincoln? Or… even worse… was Jordan starting to suspect how _she_ felt about Lincoln? Her heart thumped against her rib-cage as she considered the horrifying possibility that Jordan knew she was starting to… like Lincoln.

_He's not a bad catch. That's all I'll say._

He really wasn't. Even when he was younger, he had his handsome qualities, but now he fit the image of an attractive young man. Unshaven and all. He also seemed to have outgrown his worse qualities from his youth: his selfishness and immaturity. Stella always looked at him like he was a cute little brother before, but now when she looked at him, she saw a hot older brother.

_Wow, Stella, that's pretty creepy._

Stella sighed. Why was she cursed with such tortuously confused feelings about him? She needed to find a way to figure things out with him. _Think, Stella, think. _She tapped her forehead in the vain hopes of opening her third eye and letting it reveal the truths of the universe to her. She didn't need to know what would happen after she died; she just needed a little love advice!

Then it struck her.

_Of course! It's so obvious! Man, I'm more of a genius than I thought._

* * *

"You doing alright there, chief?"

Lincoln, who had until that point been absent-mindedly staring out the window and watching the buildings pass by, shook his head like he had been shocked with a taser and turned to look at the man at his side. "Y-Yeah," he said. "I'm fine. Thank you."

The man, who looked at least four decades older than Lincoln, hummed. "If you say so," he muttered in a deeply baritone voice.

Lincoln flashed him a weak smile, then turned back to look out the window. This was why he didn't like taking the bus: people always tried to talk to him for some reason. Strangers didn't ever seem to talk to anyone else on the bus. Why did they always choose him?

Then again, he couldn't hold it against the older passenger. Before the man said anything to him, Lincoln had been staring at the scenery of Royal Woods and… thinking. Thinking about everything he had been through and seen over the last few days. Perhaps he was showing signs of sadness or anger on his face, and the man sitting at his side just wanted to check on him.

But what was he feeling sad and angry about? If he was being honest… look, he knew what happened to Cookie was horrifying and tragic and all sorts of messed up, but if Lincoln was being completely honest with himself, those feelings barely registered. What left a much stronger impression on him were the events of last night: tackling a scruffy mugger in the park and finding out that said scruffy mugger was actually his old frenemy Chandler McCann. And... well...

Lincoln didn't think he would ever forget the howling screams he heard when Chandler found out that his old flame had been extinguished.

He shivered; he was feeling something strong in his heart. Something that was like a blend of sympathy and guilt. It was a choking feeling that Lincoln didn't like all that much. He really needed something to take his mind off it.

He took out his phone and began scrolling through the screens, searching for something to occupy himself with. He didn't have any earphones, so music and videos were a no-go. He didn't have any way to connect to the Internet either (yeah, sure, the bus provided WiFi, but Lincoln was way too paranoid to ever connect to public WiFi. Why not just give your phone to a hacker since you wanna make it easy for them?). Still, his thumb found itself pressing on the Safari app, and to Lincoln's delight, he found that article he had been reading two days ago still open and ready to read.

_Score! Good thing I don't get bus-sick when I read._

He had forgotten what the article was even about, so he scrolled all the way back to the top. His enthusiasm extinguished when he realized it was an article about Ace Savvy.

_Oh..._

Lincoln groaned angrily, and stuffed the phone back in his pocket. Ace Savvy was one of the many things his time on the run had tainted for good. Back when he was a dumb teenager who felt like anything was possible, he had this pretty stupid dream of one day joining the Ace Savvy team and creating comics and characters and maybe even concepts for the then-upcoming Fletnix show. Those dreams were dashed when he was forced to leave home and go on the run.

Aaaaaaaaand he was thinking about sad things again and making himself miserable. Bah humbug! In his defense, there wasn't a whole lot to thing about that didn't make him some degree of unhappy. Family? He was as good as dead to them. Friends? Either dead or dregs. Any good books or movies lately? Why watch people be awful to each other on screen when it was his job to spy on people being awful to each other

_Dear God, Lucy's really been having an influence on me lately. I'm basically a male version of her now. At least I'm more handsome than the male-her that punched me when I was eleven. What was his name? Luke? You know what, it doesn't matter. What matters is that my life sucks. Why do I even go on?_

Okay, even in his mental self-pity tantrum, he could think of one thing that kept him going on: that beautiful girl with shiny black hair and an adorable smile…

The bus came to a laggard halt, cutting through Lincoln's internal dialogue with a loud hissing as the doors opened. He got up, inched past the older man that had spoke to him earlier, and stepped out of the bus and onto the sidewalk. "Alright, let's get down to the station," Lincoln mumbled to himself.

Five minutes later, he was approaching the police station. It was weird for him to go out of his way to visit the cops, but he wasn't really visiting _the cops._ Just the two detectives that he was working with… and who maybe meant a little more to him than just childhood friends and work colleagues.

Just as he thought that, as if she were magnetically drawn to his thoughts about her, Stella Ang stepped out of the police station. She turned her head to see Lincoln coming, and the black-haired woman's face brightened with an adorable smile. "Lincoln! Over here!" she called to him, waving her hand in the air.

"I can see you," he shouted.

When Lincoln reached her, he greeted her and asked her why she was outside. "Were you waiting for me?" he asked with a smug grin.

To his surprise, she nodded.

"I was. Because I'm going to be working with you today," she declared cheerily.


	12. Chapter 12

**Reading over the reviews, I can see people are getting impatient about the backstory for Lincoln I've been teasing. I promise that the next chapter I'll reveal a backstory for him. **

* * *

Lincoln didn't know what to expect with Stella working by his side. That was okay, though, because neither did Stella. The two stole confused looks at each other; was Lincoln supposed to be tagging along for her detective work, or was Stella supposed to be tagging along for his PI work, or did the differences even matter at this point? Lincoln was hoping she had a lot of the same skills and used a lot of the same methods that he had when it came to investigation work, and he decided the best way to find out was to just ask.

"Hey, uh, Stella," he said as the two of them turned the corner at the same time, "what are we even supposed to be doing right now?"

Stella rubbed her chin as she thought over it. "Whatever it is you usually do, I guess," she answered with a shrug.

"Wait, so you're gonna join me in what I'm gonna do?"

"Duh."

"Don't say 'duh' like that," Lincoln snapped back, feeling lowkey offended. "Don't say 'duh' like it's obvious or something. You're the detective. You're, legally speaking, the authority here. I thought you wanted me to pal around with you in a cop car or something."

"Don't be silly, Lincoln, you wouldn't be allowed in a cop car," Stella told him.

Lincoln tried to ignore the ballooning disappointment inside his chest when he heard that (_B-But I wanted to go in a police car and go fast!_). He rolled his eyes and sighed. "So what you're saying is that you're going to be following me around and doing what I do?"

Stella nodded.

"And Jordan's okay with that?"

Stella nodded again.

He felt like he should've argued a bit more about it, but honestly he didn't really have anything to argue against. So Stella was going to hang around for the day... that was cool. Uh… yeah, that was actually pretty sweet! She probably wouldn't get in the way of his important work, so this could be productive and fruitful.

N-Not that kind of fruitful, obviously!

Lincoln clapped his hands together, and rubbed them with enthusiasm. "Alright then," he stated, "we're going to do something really important today, and maybe for the next few days. Depends on how things go."

"Ooh. What?"

Lincoln smirked at her. A devious crackle of boyish energy infused with his confident, secretive smile. "You'll see." He then put his face back into neutral and pointed at her car. "I'm going to need you to drive me to two places. First, we need to go to the grocery store. I hope you brought money with you."

The detective gave him a questioning look before putting her hand into her black dress's pocket. Digging around, she fished out both a spare set of car keys and a few crumpled dollar bills. Thankfully, they weren't singles; they were fives and tens. She stuffed the money back in and looked back to Lincoln. "Why do we need to go to the grocery store?"

Again, he smirked.

"You'll see."

* * *

Nearly an hour later, with their car packed to the brim with snacks and drinks, Stella parked the vehicle in a lot near Lincoln's second desired location. As she killed the engine, she felt herself grip her steering wheel tightly, as if she were about to fall and needed to hold onto it to survive. She gulped as her eyes rolled upwards to stare at the building that cast a shadow upon her car.

It was an apartment building.

_Cookie's _apartment building.

Lincoln gathered up as many chocolate bars, plastic-wrapped croissants, and raw pizza puffs as he could carry with two hands. He nodded at Stella, and she nodded back. She got out of the car, opened the door for him, and watched as Lincoln got out (he struggled to not drop the food, until Stella suggested he leave some of it behind for now). "I'll meet you upstairs," he told her. "Make sure to grab the drinks; we can leave some food behind, but we need to get the drinks refrigerated as soon as possible."

As Stella watch Lincoln waddle off with an armload of food, she couldn't help but think to herself:

_What are we even doing?_

What they were doing was something all investigators would find themselves doing at some point in their career: a stakeout.

The phrase "return to the scene of the crime" was a popular cliché for a reason. Criminal psychologists found that criminals of all types inevitably ended up drifting back to where they committed their heinous acts. Some did it to revel in their own twisted sense of accomplishment, while others did it to make sure they didn't leave behind anything that could incriminate them. The Wendigo was no exception to this; there were several reports of the same unsavory figure, covered in dark clothing that hid every inch of their skin, hanging around Wendigo-crime scenes and fleeing as soon as the police arrived. Granted, these were rumors, but Lincoln proudly dealt in rumors. He had somehow managed to convince the apartment managers (likely with police credentials that he liked to pretend he had now) to allow him to stake out Cookie's apartment. Luckily for him, the room next to Cookie's had been vacant for some time, and the owner of the building graciously allowed them to roost in there. The elderly renter seemed as eager to catch the killer as they were.

"_He's had everyone on edge for a while now," _the owner had said when he guided Lincoln to the room. _"Everyone in the building is afraid he's gonna come back."_

"_She," _Lincoln had corrected. _"The detectives think it's a she."_

"_He, she, it… I just want this sicko to fry on the chair."_

"Hopefully this'll help make that happen," Stella murmured. She turned back to the car, grabbed a few sweating cans of Sprite and Coke, then closed the car and followed Lincoln up the floors…

* * *

**I know this chapter is shorter and crappier than the others, and I apologize for that. A distant aunt of mine passed away earlier today, and on top of that I had to walk my brother through stressful college finance BS. Couldn't really find the energy to write after all that :/**


	13. Chapter 13

When a PI in a mystery novel sets out to solve his case, there's always an element of danger and excitement involved. There's finding clues at the scene of the crime, bugging and wiretapping entire buildings, dealing with shady figures at the back of an alley, gun fights and explosions and car crashes oh my! Sadly, the reality was much, much more dull. The reality of a PI's job was Lincoln, half-empty soda bottle in hand, standing straight and staring out of the peephole in the door into the hallway.

"Any luck with the security camera hookup yet?" Lincoln called to Stella.

Stella was in the living room, fingers clacking away on her laptop. Frustration mingled with every one of her breaths. Finally, she gave up with sigh. Slumping back in her chair, she said, "No. This system is really out-of-date."

"Figures," grunted Lincoln. "Guess there's nothing else we can do except watch the hallway ourselves."

"Do you want to swap out for a moment?"

He waved his hand. "No thank you. I'm used to just standing and watching for hours."

A flash of sympathy struck Stella when she heard those words; she didn't really realize that… yeah, of course he's used to this monotony. A large chunk of his job was just sitting or standing as passively as rock, waiting until he got what he needed. It was admirable… but also sad. It hadn't been that long ago when Lincoln was a teenager, and Stella remembered how he had been back in those days: creative and bright and cunning. To see someone like that reduced to a broken adult that drank unhealthy crap as he watched others plot their own schemes and play their own games…

_What could've happened to him to make him like this?_

Stella pushed her chair away from the table. She stood up and began walking towards Lincoln. He didn't notice at first, but when he felt her body pressing on his back, he was startled. "St-Stella? What are you doing?"

"Just thought that you could use the company," she said softly.

All his fine cognitive skills shut down, so he couldn't even remember what he was going to say (_something about taking a step back? Why would I want her to do that?_). He could feel her soft breasts pressing into his thinly-clothed back, her hard nipples digging into his flesh. The aromatic scent of perfume filled the air; the sweet, delectable smell of cinnamon filled his nostrils. His pupil rolled back so he could catch a glimpse of the taller girl, and he was struck by how much more noticeable her beauty was up-close. Even with her lips thin and line-like, the corners always seemed to resemble a caring smile.

His heart was already beating, but when her chin scraped against the top of his head, it thumped so violently he thought the neighbors would heard it.

_Calm down, Lincoln, you're acting like a high school junior._

"Hey, Lincoln," he heard Stella softly breathe, "do you mind if I ask you something?"

He gulped. "No. Ask away."

She timidly wet her lips and hesitated for a moment. Summoning a deep breath that she exhaled onto Lincoln's thin white hairs, she continued, "I know this is really personal, and you probably don't want to talk about this… but I just have to know: what happened to you at home that made you run away?"

Lincoln was not expecting that. Baffled, he blinked like a stunned owl. "Stella..."

"It's okay if you don't want to answer," she told him. "I just… wanted to know more about you… and how you ended up the way you are."

Her face tinged with red when she finished her plea. Almost as red as Lincoln's face was. Burning heat flowed from their cheeks and both of them felt the other's warmth issuing from them.

The young man sighed; he had put this off for long enough. He knew the killer wouldn't be coming around this time of day anyway, so with the sigh to signal his resignation to fate, he took a step back from the door. He lifted his arm to gesture towards the plastic chairs the owner provided, so he and Stella went over to them and sat down. Before he began talking, he raised the soda to his mouth and poured the entire drink down his throat. "Okay, I'll tell you. But it's a really miserable story."

A joke came to Stella's mind, to lighten the mood, but she kept it sealed in her head. "Ready if you are," she simply said.

Lincoln nodded, then began his story:

* * *

Many years ago, a sixteen year old Lincoln walked up the porch of his home carrying two plastic bags in either hand. The bags contained heavy cartons of milk and juice, so they weighed down his hands as he attempted to knock the door. Eventually, with a resigned sigh, he opted instead to awkwardly lean forward and press his nose to the doorbell. Hoping no one saw him, he took a step back and waited patiently for someone to answer.

The lock clinked, and the door swung open, revealing his older sister Luna. She pursed her lips when she saw him with such heavy bags. "Did you go to the store?" Luna asked him.

He nodded.

"Lincoln, it's really late. Pop's gonna be pissed."

"He's always pissed," Lincoln spat back.

She couldn't argue with that. Still, for some reason, she felt like defending her old man. "He's just going through a rough time," Luna feebly said. "Come on, dude, be a little forgiving. After everything that's happened with Moms..."

"Luna, please… the only reason you can try to defend him is because he doesn't try to do to you what he does to me," Lincoln said coldly.

She bit down on her lip, quieting down. The two siblings stood there awkwardly, neither trying to meet the other's gaze. Lincoln's ears pricked as he noticed how silent the house was. He didn't know why he was so surprised: the Loud House hadn't been very loud since their mother and half of their siblings left after the divorce. At the time, Lincoln hadn't wanted to go with her, blaming her for everything that had happened to their family, but now he wished more than anything that he had taken her offer to leave.

Four months ago, Rita Loud was found to have been having an affair. When her husband discovered this, he was broken immediately. He spent a day as an unconsolable wreck of a man. The next day he came out of his room and told Rita he wanted her out - out of the house, out of the family, out of his life.

Their children, who up until that point had naively believed they would always be together, found themselves separated. Their parents graciously gave them choice of who to stay with; most had chosen to stay with their father, but some of the younger ones (Lana, Lisa, and Lily) went with their mother. Lori and Leni, who had already moved out, chose to stay far away from the drama, and refused to speak to either of their parents.

No one was happy with what was happening, least of all poor Lynn Sr.

It was no wonder, then, that he turned to alcohol. The only thing that could cure his pain was at the bottle of the bottle.

But a broken man with a developing need for alcohol was a dangerous thing, and the Loud children discovered too late that the jovial, warm man they had known their father to be over the years was slowly disappearing with every bottle he drained. He became irritable, temperamental, absent-minded, cold, distant, and in the case of one of his children, physically overwhelming and abusive.

That one was, of course, Lincoln. He had the marks to prove it.

In his older sisters' defense, they often tried to protect him; Luan and Lynn especially proved to be strong wards. But they weren't omnipresent, and whenever Lincoln found himself alone with his old man, it usually ended with him curled on the ground, covered with scratches and bruises.

Soon, Lincoln discovered a simple way to protect himself: simply not being at home. Which was why he was out after sunset, walking to faraway stores for milk and juice that the family didn't really need.

Lincoln shook his head as if he could shake out those dark thoughts. "Can I come inside now, Luna?" he grumbled.

"Yeah, of course. Come in, bro, you're gonna catch a cold."

Nodding graciously, Lincoln stepped inside. Luna took the bags from his hands and carried them off to the kitchen, attracting the attention of another sister. A fluffy puff of auburn hair poked out from around the corner, and before Lincoln knew it, Lynn was standing by his side. "Did you grab any protein bars? We need those a lot more than we need orange juice. OJ's all sugary crap, protein bars are all protein."

"Really now?" Lincoln sarcastically responded.

Lynn smirked. As she often did, she raised her fist to give her brother a playful punch to punish him for his sarcasm. But just as she took aim at his arm, Lincoln took a sideways glance at her and saw her curled fist out of the corner of his eye.

What happened next was all instinct.

He shrieked and fell back to the ground, balling up and covering himself with his arms. Lynn's face paled when she realized what she had accidentally triggered in him, and quickly fell to her brother's side. "No, no, no, Lincoln, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking… I f-forgot. You know I wouldn't do that to you, right? You know I wouldn't h-hurt you like that!"

Her panting brother uncurled, and met her eyes. He nodded shakily. "Y-Yeah," he said, "I know. I think. I know"

Lynn, now wracked with guilt, stood up and offered Lincoln her hand. He took it and she helped him off the ground. Glancing guiltily to the side, she shook her head and whispered, "I'm sorry, Linc. I'm so sorry."

The warble in her voice told him that she wasn't just apologizing for the scare she accidentally gave him. She was apologizing for things beyond her control. She was apologizing for their mother's departure, for their father's abuse, for the fact that he was the only target of the older man's aggression. It all struck Lincoln even harder than her playful punches ever could have; what struck him even more was how timid she seemed at that moment. In the old world, Lynn Loud Jr. would've never apologized in such a meek way. But this was the new world: a world where powerlessness hung over all their heads.

She hugged him, then walked away, leaving the boy standing there, with only confused terrors as company.

"_LINCOLN!"_

Lincoln broke into a cold sweat as he heard the roar of his father. He began trembling as he heard his father repeat his call for him. All the bruises his father had given him before began to ache and hurt.

_Please, no. Please…_

"_LINCOLN! I'M CALLING FOR YOU!"_

"C-Coming," he shouted.

He tried to ignore the pitiful looks his sisters gave him as he hung his head and began his slow march up the stairs.


	14. Chapter 14

**anonymous789: Completely agree with you. It's a shame when adults, whose job it is to put the feelings and interests of their children above their own, allow themselves to become what Lynn's become. I doubt that Luna (as presented in the show) would defend his actions, but I just needed that back-and-forth to get the point across.**

* * *

The door of Lincoln's small room flew open like it was kicked down by the Bull of Heaven. Lincoln stumbled into his room, hissing with every limpid step he took. His face, arms, and body were all decorated with fresh cuts and bruises. Pain burst across his nervous system, hitting him in waves. His father had done a real number on him. Lincoln should've expected it; the man had been drinking spirits, which always made him angry and aggressive.

Even more than he usually was.

When the teen fell into his bed, he groaned as he stretched on the surface of his mattress. The sheets scraped against a fresh bleeding cut on his cheek, but Lincoln had no will to move. _Let it sting, _he thought. _Let it get infected. Let it destroy my whole fucking face! LET IT DO FUCKING WHATEVER!_

He began gritting his teeth. He wasn't going to cry. He refused to let himself cry.

"L-Lincoln?"

Lincoln turned his head slightly so he could who it was that named him. The tall, dark shadow of his sister Luna fell upon him, blocking the light in the hall. Despite that, he could see his older sister's eyes…

The tears spilling from them glistened like blood diamonds.

"Lincoln, I..."

"Luna, leave me alone," he said coldly.

She nodded, and without another word, she turned and left to her own room. Lincoln didn't even watch her leave. He closed his eyes, reliving every punch he received in the chest, every kick he took to his legs, every slap that crashed into his face and sent him spiraling to the ground. At one point, he had the will to fight, but that had slowly drained from him. Now he knew the rules: stay down and take it, and it'll be over sooner.

But for how long? How long could this go on?

He buried his face into his pillow, and squeezed it around his head. It felt suffocated, and part of him wished it would suffocate him.

He promised himself he wouldn't cry that night.

He couldn't keep that promise.

* * *

He didn't go to school the next day. He made up an excuse – that he was sick – but he knew he didn't even need to. His father didn't care whether he went to school or not. The man was completely ignored his only son's existence until he got drunk and angry. He cared if his daughters went to school, though, and barked angrily at them if they tried to skip.

Which was why it was such a surprise when Lincoln, as he took his crackling bowl of cereal up the stairs, found Lucy waiting for him at the top.

"Good morning, big brother," she rasped.

"G-Good morning, Lucy." He struggled hard on getting his first word out. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you at school? Dad's going to get mad."

"If he comes out of his room, I'll hide."

"I guess you got nothing to worry about," Lincoln said. "Even if he does find out you're skipping, the worst he'll do is yell. If he still cared about me, and he found out I was skipping, he'd probably slit my throat."

Lucy's frown twitched sympathetically. She reached over to him and took one of her brother's hands in her own, and squeezed tightly. Her hands were cold and clammy, but Lincoln still found the gesture more comforting than almost anything else in the world. It was a show of solidarity and love. Something to remind Lincoln that, no matter what, she and all her sister would be there for him.

He sighed, and withdrew his hand away from him. Posture slumped and back hunched, he walked to his room, Lucy following after him with silent steps. They went in together, and Lincoln dumped his cereal bowl on his desk. For a long time, neither said anything to other. Lucy just sat Indian-style on his bed, watching him eat his breakfast. When he finally finished, he put the bowl to his lips and drank the sugary broth. He wiped the remains off his face, wincing as a sharp cut on his arm came in contact with the milk. When he finished, he looked over to Lucy with an expression so defeated and miserable it put Lucy to shame.

"Why me?"

With just two words, he shattered the walls around her heart.

"I think he's just angry at men," Lucy murmured. Her fingers played with the hem of her dress as she tried to explain to Lincoln why he was being punished the way he was. "He's angry at the world… at men… and you're the closest one he can find."

"Well, that's comforting."

"The truth rarely is."

Lincoln felt like snapping back at her. He grit his teeth then opened his mouth to say something hostile and hurtful… then promptly closed it. It wasn't her fault that she wasn't making him feel better; this was Lucy, after all. This was the best she could offer him. He could tell that she wanted to comfort him, but she just didn't know how. And honestly, what fourteen year old girl would know how? What can she really say to a victim of abuse to explain to him why he has to live in fear?

Nothing. Which is why Lucy had something else for him…

"Wait here," she told him. She scurried off, leaving Lincoln confused.

"This is my room. Of course I'm going to 'wait here.'"

When Lucy returned, she brought with her a hefty paperback with wrinkles running along the book's dark spine. She curtly handed the book to Lincoln, who took it and flipped it over to the back to read the brief summary. "What is this?" he asked.

"It's a book I started reading when… when everything with Mom happened." She paused for a moment, digging her toes into the ground. "It's called _You're Not Alone. _It's about a boy with an… abusive father who constantly beats him without warning. One day, he makes a plan to escape into the dark, cold city, and he struggles to survive and avoid the authorities who would drag him back to his household."

"Sounds like a nice fantasy for angsty teenagers. Uh, no offense."

It took him a moment, but it finally struck him. This wasn't Lucy giving him reading material. She was… making a suggestion.

He looked at her with a gaping mouth. His eyebrows rose, never fully even, which somehow conveyed his surprise more. "Luce… are you… are you trying to tell me something?"

The young girl lowered her gaze to the floor. Her face reddened, and her lower lip disappeared into her mouth. "I don't want you to leave," she admitted, "b-but… I don't want to see you… so h-hurt..."

Her breath hitched. Words became hard to say. She spun and turned her back to him, and her arms rose as she cradled herself. Her entire body began to shake as the tears flowed from her eyes, down her pristine, pale face. The room fell completely silent; only the sniffling sound of her nose crinkling cut through the deafening quiet.

The goth felt a hand gently touch her shoulder. "Lucy..."

She didn't bother to hear him out. She ran out of the room like a bolt of black lightning. She raced down the hall to her own room, closed the door behind her, and locked herself in her coffin.

This was the last time she was ever going to see him again. She could feel it deep down, in her heart of hearts.

And she didn't want the last image he ever had of her to be of her as a crying mess.

* * *

Back in his room, Lincoln frowned as he titled his head to peer into the hallway. Lucy was gone – locked herself in her own room. Lincoln doubted he would be able to persuade her to come out and talk to him. Sighing, he instead focused on the gift she had given him. The book was thick, but oddly lighter than he expected. Perhaps it helped that the book itself was small. Or maybe he was just over-thinking things…

_Running away, _Lincoln thought as he flipped the novel in his hands. The concept seemed… so alien to him. Even as the abuse from his father mounted, the idea of fleeing home and getting away from it all had never even occurred to him. Looking over his shoulder at the suburbs and city beyond his window… could he really flee from home and go out there? Where would he even go, if he actually did it? His mom? No, his aching heart still couldn't forgive her for what she had wantonly unleashed upon their family. Lori and Leni? He wasn't even sure of where they lived.

_Maybe you can strike out on your own? Don't go anywhere, because you don't have anywhere to go. Walk the streets by day, sleep on them by nightfall. Become a master of your own destiny._

"I...I can't do that," Lincoln mumbled.

_Why not?_

That was a good question. Lincoln didn't have the answer to it. Moreover, he was suddenly aware of just how pained his body was. Every pulse from his heart beat against his wounds, and every muscle he relaxed or tensed brought with it a tide of pain. Closing his eyes for a moment, he imagined a world in which all his hurt was gone. He imagined a smooth wave of water, white as silk, engulfing him and washing away every torture he had been forced to endure – a baptism to wipe the sins of his father from his body. As he opened his eyes, he knew that the only way he could ever be free was to dive into the turbulent, dark ocean that was the outside world, and swim away to safety.

He glanced at the book's title again. _You're Not Alone. _It was such a striking message that Lincoln couldn't believe that it was a coincidence. But whatever it was, Lincoln knew his plan forward. He went to his small closet, pulled out a small gym bag Lynn had loaned him once, and nodded with determination.

* * *

That night, Lincoln Loud threw his stuffed bag over his back, walked out the front door, and never went back again.


	15. Chapter 15

**TheGreatestWriter: His life's about to get a whole lot better in just a sec ;)**

* * *

Years after the fact, silence hung over a stunned Stella and a downtrodden Lincoln as he started wrapped up his story. He threw his head back with a deep sigh, thinking of all the sisters he left behind. A cold smile stretched on his face. "Hey… do you want to hear the best part? After I ran away, the very first week, I got bitten by a really angry street dog. Had to treat it and sew it up all by myself. Thankfully it wasn't rabid. Have to be thankful for small blessings, I guess..."

"Lincoln," Stella said quietly. The entire time her hands had been covering her mouth, and her eyes were as shocked and wide as they could be. She lowered them so her upper lip poked out from over her interlocking fingers. "I… I am so sorry. I never knew… I never thought..."

She had never known. She would've never suspected that such a horrific thing was happening to her best friend. Lincoln, in high school, didn't look like he was having troubles at home at all. She didn't remember any injuries or bruises blemishing his skin beyond what might be expected for a young man. A sense of cold realization settled in when she realized that it was completely possible that his father had forced him to cover the markers of his abuse. She did remember Lincoln partaking in a rash of absences just before he left… God, she was so stupid. She should've made sure he was alright…

The young man didn't have much to say to that; he just shrugged with a pained smile artificially plastered on his features. "Not much you could've done," he said.

"Y-Yes, I could have. I… I could've called the police!"

"And then what? What would've happened if you had called 911, Stella, is that my dad would go to court, where he might or might not have gotten away with it. If he did get off scot-free, then the first thing he'd do is take me home and give me the beating of a lifetime for getting him in trouble. And if he didn't, then he would've gone to jail and our entire family would've been broken up and scattered. Some of us in foster homes, some in orphanages, and there would be a real chance that none of us would ever see each other ever again."

"No..."

"Listen Stella, I know you work for the police force, and you want to think the best of them," Lincoln started slowly, "but there's a reason I don't work with them, or even like them. They can make bad things happen to innocent people, even without meaning to. And sometimes... they _do_ mean to."

No, he wasn't right. She knew he wasn't. He couldn't be. "If I was a cop back then, I would've helped you," Stella insisted.

For a moment, she regretted saying that. She felt like she was just encouraging him to laugh in her face.

But, to her surprise, he didn't. Instead, his expression warmed, and he reached over to touch her shoulder. "You didn't need to be a cop to help me back then," he said. "You were already helping me a lot back then."

"How?"

Sucking chilly air through his jagged front teeth, Lincoln searched for the right words to say to her. His cheeks reddened when he found them. He withdrew his hand from her shoulder in one swift yet awkward motion, and placed it flat against the bed. "That year of high school was the most miserable year of my life." His voice was low. It straddled the line between embarrassed and reflective. "It would've been a complete Hell if it wasn't for you. Just... just you being there, as my friend. The fact that someone like me could be close with someone as… a-as amazing and smart and beautiful as you… it kept me going for a long time. It... gave me strength, I guess."

"Lincoln..."

"I love you, Stella," he said before he could stop himself. "I've always loved you, and I always will. And I know that you didn't love me that way before… and maybe not even now… but my feelings won't change, no matter how many other girls try to fill that void."

His declaration ended as it began: his words were laced with confidence, yet they ultimately spoke of confused feelings and apprehensive declarations of a romantic love he was sure she didn't want from him. His eyes fell to the carpeted ground, and his entire body slumped over. Seconds passed without a single thought going through his head, and without a single word uttered by her. He didn't even need to look at her; he knew what he had just done.

_I blew it. Bad._

This was worse than bad: this was him declaring to her that he had barely changed. He was still the same needy loser that he was in high school, pathetically pining for her, unable to move on and face the facts. Why did he even think she would want him now? She probably had a hundred better options than him. Oh God, he should just resign from this case. And move. Move somewhere far like Quebec. No, even farther... he should move to the Maldives!

But just as Lincoln prepped himself for the worst from Stella, something incredible happened.

He felt a soft hand slide over his own, wrap itself around his fingers, and grip them hard. He could feel Stella's heartbeat through her hand, and it was _fast. _Her heart was racing quickly, and he didn't understand why until he looked up and saw her beautiful face erupt with a volcanic blush. She couldn't even meet his eyes, so she looked down at her legs as she smiled and giggled like a love-struck nymph. When she finally braved to meet his gaze, she breathed softly, and her pleasantly warm breath flowed across his face.

"_Do you mean that?_"

He swallowed back all the spit he would ever produce in his life. "What p-part?"

"All of it. That I helped you by being close… that you love me..."

Her face inched closer to his; her red, curved lips shaped into an O. She leaned in closer, until the tips of their noses touched. Her face, Lincoln realized, was like a warm furnace.

She opened her wonderful almond eyes to look up at him, expecting an answer.

"I did. I do." He nodded.

She smiled. "That's all I needed to hear."

And with that, she bridged the distance between their mouths, sealing them together with a kiss.

Her lips moved over his with passion. She brought her hands to his face, and pulled him even closer to her. Their teeth clinked together, and their tongues, wet and energetic, began to play with each other.

When their kiss broke, they started at each other with surprise – Lincoln surprised with Stella, and Stella surprised with herself. Her ragged breaths made her bosom rise and fall, and Lincoln eyes unconsciously flitted towards them. Stella noticed and, not knowing what was coming over her, grinned like a mischievous imp. "Do you want to see them?" she asked.

Lincoln nodded wordlessly.

Moments later, Stella stood in front of Lincoln, her clothes completely discarded to the side. She reveled in his worshiping gaze. His hungry eyes stared at her naked body like it sculpted by Aphrodite – focusing especially on her tan breasts, slicked and glistening from her slight sweating – which made Stella blush.

Maybe that was why she was doing this? Because Lincoln made her feel wanted, needed, and beautiful. Or maybe because he was _hot._

Eh. She'd settle for "both A and B" for an answer.

He stood up from the chair, reached down to his waist, and undid his belt. His pants fell to the ground, his underwear pulled down with them. When Stella caught glimpse of his hardness, she couldn't help but whistle, impressed. It was… bigger than she expected.

"Is there a bed in this apartment? Maybe we should..."

The young man tackled her to the ground, making her squeal. He began planting rapid kisses on her face and neck, trailing down to her breasts. Before he could place his lips on her magnificent coffee-colored orbs, she took hold of his cock and squeezed it tightly. His teeth grit, and a throaty "_Urgh" _escaped him.

"Not so fast," she said. She aimed his penis at her dripping womanhood, and pressed it to the entrance. To get comfortable, Lincoln mounted her supportive body. They became a tangled mess of limbs and flesh as he assumed the position Stella knew as "the mating press." A position meant for – _gulp –_ pregnancy.

"Lincoln, WAIT!"

But he couldn't wait any longer – he had already waited for years. In one quick movement, he pressed his cock into her opening, and buried his length within her depths. Stella cried out as he did; her fingers dug into the carpet, and her toes curled with delight. She could feel his girth stretching her walls, molding them into the shape of his cock.

He stared into the depths of her eyes, and she smiled gently at him. "Don't hold back," she told him.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice trembling from the sheer pleasure wracking his mind and body.

She felt slight twinges of pain – this was the first time she had a _man_ inside her, after all – but she relished it before it could dissipate. She nodded, and he kissed her face. "You're amazing, Stella," he reaffirmed.

As he began to move inside her, she moaned loudly and lewdly. His hips rose above her own, then slammed back down into her. At first he took it slow, adjusting to his new environment, but as he got into the rhythm of their lovemaking, his speed began to increase, his lower body becoming a pale, sweaty blur. Every time he divided back into her cunt, his tip would crash against the furthest walls of her biology. Her eyes rolled and her tongue lolled out of her wet mouth.

"Faster, Lincoln!"

He complied, finding the energy to to slam into her at a much faster pace. His dick was hitting places within her that she never knew existed. Jordan, as much as she loved her, never filled her the way Lincoln did, nor did she rub the twitching walls of her pussy, creating such friction that her entire inner thigh burst with blissful heat.

"You feel… r-really good," he groaned in her ear. His body trembled as he moved closer and closer to reaching his peak. Then, licking his lips, he remembered what he initially started, and brought his head down to her breasts. He kissed the her globs of flesh and licked her pert nipples, and she groaned. She began thrusting her hips back against his, as much as she could in her position.

"Fuck!" she cried, one of the rare times in her life that she spoke so vulgarly. His language quickly became downright pornographic. "Lincoln, give me more, and make me cum with you! Make me cum hard!" Her hand flew to her clit and began to furiously rub her nub in circular motions while he pounded her below.

"FUCK, FUCK! AHHH!"

She screamed as her orgasm exploded from deep inside her. Her entire body convulsed under Lincoln's weight as pleasure raced to brighten every nerve ending, and her squirt burst onto Lincoln's legs and groin. As her flushed, tender body shook with bliss, her walls clamped hard on his cock. He groaned, feeling his own climax racing to meet his tip. He had only seconds to reluctantly pull his cock out and, with a roar, ejaculate all over her naked body. He sprayed her breasts and belly with warm, white cum, and her fingers never stopped toying with her clit until he finished. Clutching his deflating dick, he looked down at her, and sheepishly smiled.

"That… was… incredible."

She smiled warmly at him. The two kissed each other once more before Stella looked down at her body. She wiped some of the semen from her stomach, and gave Lincoln flirty eyes as she put it in her mouth and swallowed it.

"If you need me," she said, "I'll be in the shower."


	16. Chapter 16

**anonymous789: Thanks man. Means a lot coming from you.**

**Mr. Haziq: And the final third gets the whole chapter to herself today.**

* * *

A 5-ball Newton's cradle sat on Jordan's desk as she shifted through papers and files. The metal balls on either side struck the stationary balls in the middle to make the other side swing back with force. The thin rays of light that filtered through her half-closed window made the metallic orbs gleam, catching her eye. For a moment they peeled away from the crinkly pages in her hands and towards the desk accessory. A smile briefly flickered on her lips.

"I think I should take a break."

She glanced at the clock next to the Newton's cradle, and the numbers it displayed told her it was about the right time for one anyway.

She pushed her chair away from her desk, grabbed a few spare dollar bills and coins from her desk's drawer, and started walking towards the vending machine. She would've gotten lunch (as in, food that didn't come in a small bag with a mascot on it), but she wasn't hungry enough for a meal. Her mind was dark and clouded with conflicted thoughts, each of which helped decrease her appetite. She was mostly thinking of Stella and her parents. Two people she had lost… and one she had stupidly thrown away.

Walking into the break room, Jordan ignored the light chatter of her brothers and sisters in uniform. She could feel their eyes burning into her back, and she had no doubt that some of their words were aimed at her. That could only be expected: while everyone else was out issuing speeding tickets, she was the head of the investigation of the most grisly serial killer this small town – and maybe the entire state – had ever seen.

But she also knew their words weren't praise; they were likely venomous mockeries. _How stupid does she have to be to let this killer walk free? _She could hear them saying. _Hasn't she ever heard of security cameras? DNA samples? What a stupid bitch._

She grit her teeth as she jabbed the buttons on the vending machine to select a bag of salty chips. _You're just imagining things. Stop being insecure, _she ordered herself.

It was more than just insecurity, though, and she knew it. No matter how hard she tried to will them away, the dark thoughts of all her past misfortunes kept circling over her head like black clouds, casting a heavy shadow over her as she walked through her daily life. She began losing all sense of where she was going; the world began dribbling away like wet paint on a canvas, until all there was… was nothing.

A pure white blank world, where she was alone with her thoughts.

Okay, she was going to have to deal with this. She was going to have to go on some spiritual journey to the center of her memories, and she didn't even get to try out any special peyote drugs first. Bummer!

Closing her eyes, Jordan reconstructed the world around her. What felt like dust flowed across her arms and out into the world. When she reopened her eyes, she wasn't met by the gray halls of the police station, but with a wide grassy yard where petunias and other beautiful flowers sprouted from the earth. There was a road paved on it with stones and pebbles, leading to a large house. The sky was blue, the grass was green, and the Sun shone upon it all with all its majesty.

There was no mistaking it: that was her house, and this was summertime.

She knew where she was. Or, at least, _when_ she was.

"The day it all happened," she said to herself.

* * *

The door to her home was ajar, and a woman's scream issued from inside. Normally, a cry for help would supercharge Jordan's instincts to rescue people, but she didn't rush in with her weapon drawn. Instead, she casually strolled in, her hands comfortably tucked into her pockets.

She knew that the woman who had screamed was beyond saving.

The first thing she encountered when she stepped inside was the strewn-out body of a butler. His white suit was stained by a deep crimson stain that issued from a gunshot wound in his chest. She pursed her lips sadly at the sight. "Poor Geoffrey," she whispered. His eyes were still wide open from the surprise of his own death, so the least she felt she could do was bend down and close his eyes herself.

She continued forward, finding another body on the ground. The corpse was a plump woman with brown hair, browner skin and a maid's uniform. She lay on her side, her face swimming in a pool of her own blood. "Maya," Jordan named her. This time she stopped to stand above the body. Her lip quivered, but she quickly rid herself of her sadness. She knew the worst was yet to come. She couldn't break now.

No more bodies appeared on her path after Maya. Instead, it was littered with shards of broken glass and splinters of destroyed wood. They crunched underneath her shoes, and Jordan couldn't help but wince at the rough sounds.

She heard another scream coming from up the stairs, so she started to ascend them. A cold sweat broke out over her back, accompanied by uncomfortable prickly heat, but Jordan ignored it all. Her focus was set entirely on what was up the stairs… down the hall… in the master bedroom…

She stepped into the master bedroom, and she saw a scene of her life that would remain, until her dying days, the most familiar yet alien page of her life's story.

The drawers of the room were busted, with clothes, jewelry, and money spilling onto the floor. The bed was ransacked, sheets pouring over either side like waterfalls of velvet and silk. A table had been completed overturned and smashed. None of that interested Jordan; her focus was on the center of the room. There were five people there: three huddled on the floor, and two standing over them menacingly.

A shudder wracked Jordan's body.

The two standing – both young men dressed in dark black clothes and masks that concealed their faces – aimed their handguns at the three on the ground, shouting muffled and incomprehensible words at them. On the ground, in the line of fire, was a family of three. A large, older man held his wife in his arms, who in turn held their frightened teenage daughter. Jordan looked down at the teenager, watching her whimper and struggle in her mother's arms. She tried to glance at her face, but the mother's grasp was tight on her daughter's face, covering at various times her eyes, mouth, and ears.

She looked back to the middle-aged man, who was shouting back at the two men. Again, she couldn't hear a word he was saying, but she could recognize the fear in his face. No, not just fear… _desperation. _Desperation to keep himself alive. Desperation to keep his family alive. Desperation to just be able to see tomorrow – at that moment, the most precious blessing that he knew he had taken for granted.

Unfortunately, desperation doesn't always pay off.

The shouting and screaming became louder. Faces reddened, and the gibberish they all spat at each other took on a much more hostile tone. One of the young men, angered by something that was said, reached over to punch the patriarch. The older man, unfortunately, had too much pride to allow himself to be hit, so he swung his fist and clocked the intruder in the face…

Jordan screamed as she watched the man's partner shoot her father in the head.

Brains and blood exploded out of the back of his skull, and he fell to the ground limp. Her mother screamed, so the murderer pointed his gun at her and shot her dead as well.

Three seconds. That was all it took. In Jordan's memory, the murder of her parents had taken place over an infinity, but it only took three seconds for two young thugs to destroy a family.

The younger Jordan screamed and cried and squealed, curling up into a sobbing ball. The young man who had shot her parents looked down at his evil deeds, and even from behind his mask, Jordan could see cold terror wash over his face. He hadn't meant to kill them. Maybe he didn't even intend to kill at all. His partner, though, the more adept killer of the two, congratulated his buddy on his first blood, clapping his shoulder and pointing down the hall all the servants he had killed.

"_We're tied. Two for two," _he said. "_So let's have a tie-breaker, eh?"_

This man wasn't in it for the money like his partner. He was in it for the blood.

The only thing that saved young Jordan was the sound of police sirens approaching the house. The two young men panicked, grabbed as many loose jewels and wads of paper as they could, then bolted from the room and out of the house, leaving Jordan crying on the floor. She wailed for her dead mother and father, unaware that an older version of herself was looking down at her with sympathy stinging her eyes…

No, wait, those were just tears.

Everything from that moment on was a blur. She watched herself at the funeral, watching her parents go into the ground. She watched herself with a lawyer and agent, serving her her parents' will and handing her a generous inheritance. She saw herself confronting the two men that had destroyed her life behind a glass wall, identifying them for the officers, and watching as them get dragged off to spend the rest of their lives behind bars…

A final scene played before her. She watched herself grind her naked body against Stella's, the two girls moaning as they came together. They cuddled together after that, sharing the same sweaty blanket. She watched herself look at Stella, and say those fateful words to her:

"I want to become a detective. I don't want what happened to me to happen ever again."

Stella had good prospects. She was doing well with her grades. She could've easily chosen a better, more enriching career. She could've - and should've - become a doctor or a lawyer or an engineer. Instead, she smiled softly at the younger Jordan, kissed her rosy lips, and whispered, "Then I'll become a detective with you."

* * *

"Uhh… Jordan? Hey Jordan. Some of us want to get some snacks, you know?"

Shaking her head, she looked back to see a fellow officer uncomfortably ask her to move out of the way. She didn't realize that she had been standing there the entire time, or that she had been gripping her bag of chips so hard they crumbled in her tight grip. She stepped to the side, and the same officer pointed at his eyes.

"Why are you, uh, crying?"

Jordan reached up and touched her face.

"I... I remembered something..."


	17. Chapter 17

Lincoln tried to get back into the stakeout – his whole reason for being there, he had to remind himself – by getting back to the door. He alternated between peering out of the peephole and pressing his ear against the wood. It was unusually quiet on their floor. Lincoln really hoped that none of the residents knew that they were staking the place out. He had no idea what people in this seedy place would do to them if they found out.

Actually, he did know. If there were any Mafiosi around, they would try to kill him and Stella.

_Come on, Linc, you're being crazy. _He shook his head. _There's no Mafia in Royal Woods anymore. Not after that Mario Laraza guy was arrested back in 2017. _

His ear twitched when he heard footsteps coming from behind him – bare feet, slightly wet. He smiled as he turned to see Stella, dressed in pure white and wiping at her wet hair with a fluffy towel, walk up to him. She looked amazing; her shirt clung tightly to her body, so her breasts visibly jiggled with every step. She seemed radiant in Lincoln's eyes – a South Asian angel.

Did they have angels in South Asia, or gods? Lincoln forgot.

"Hey," she said, her voice soft and irresistible.

"Hey," he said back.

She giggled musically, and Lincoln felt his loins stir. If he had any less self-control, he would pounced on her and ravaged her like a caveman for the second time that day.

Stella pointed down the hall, at the shower room from where she had just emerged. "Aren't you going to take a shower?" she asked. "I can cover for you while you do."

"No thanks. I didn't even bring a towe- come to think of it, where did you get a towel?"

Stella, shrugging, said, "I found one in the bathroom."

"There was already a towel there?" Lincoln's forehead scrunched with confusion. Since when did apartments offer complimentary towels in their bathrooms? "Damn, this place is like a hotel. A really, really shitty hotel."

"This towel isn't shitty," Stella purred, rubbing the fluffy cloth against her face. She stopped to look down at Lincoln, pressing his burning ear to the door, and say, "I think you really should take a shower. No offense, but this place is starting to smell like… you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Relax, Linc. I'm just kidding."

"Oh… okay."

And with that, the two lapsed into silence. Lincoln drummed his fingers rapidly, and Stella glanced off to the side, staring at a blank white wall like it was a canvas of Picassoesque artistic achievement.

A stray cough broke the silence; Stella glanced back at Lincoln, who sighed, and said, "So I guess we need to talk about what just happened."

"Oh, it's no big deal. We just had sex. You know, forged that intimate connection that can't even be compared to anything else. It's no biggie."

"Since when did you get so snarky?"

"I… I don't know."

Lincoln shrugged again; what could he even say? He knew he should have something to say to put everything into perspective, but he didn't even know what that perspective was supposed to be. It was all so sudden, almost like the stress of the job made them snap for a moment, and when they came back to the world of sanity, they were naked and euphoric.

There was more to it than just that, though. Lincoln knew how he felt about Stella since forever ago. He knew how his heart sped whenever he saw her approaching, and how his eyes would always linger on her for just a few moments too long. He loved her, and while she had surprised him by returning his feelings, it was exactly that: a surprise. What did he even want from her now that he knew she felt the same way? A girlfriend? A wife? A friend with benefits?

_How is it that when working with the cops on a case, the most complicated part of it ends up being romance? _

Still, her eyes were locked on him, patiently expecting him to say the perfect thing. Clearly his throat, he gave another long sigh. "So how was it?"

Stella's eyes snapped shut then reopened with confusion. "What?"

"How was it? The sex, I mean. Did it feel good?"

Her mouth fell, gaping. _What?!_

"Lincoln, are you making fun of me?" she demanded.

Lincoln fixed her with a grave stare. There wasn't a hint of a smile on his face, nor smirk nor grin. He looked completely sober and earnest. He gestured towards her with his hands open, like he was offering her a place on a stage. "I'm being completely serious," he said in a low tone. "Was I good?"

Stella blushed an attractive shade of red. She turned her head away so he couldn't see how intensely her cheeks were burning. They felt like they were on fire! Not just any fire either, but the raging flames of a forest fire that turned her skin into a sizzling burner.

When she turned back, she balled her trembling hands into fists and bit down viciously on her lip. Lincoln felt bad for thinking that she looked exactly like an embarrassed teen from those harem anime he used to watch. "Yes, you smug prick," she said. "I liked it. It felt good."

He nodded knowingly, and to Stella's surprise, he didn't burst into a frat boy fit of laughter. _Totally rocked your world, dudette! _Instead he stood up and walked away from the door over to her. He took her hands in his own and raised them to chest-level. "I'm asking because sex, to me, isn't just something physical," he explained. "It's meaningful. And… well, this is gonna sound crude, but we _fit _together when we did it. We didn't just have sex, we made love."

He paused to take a deep breath. "Look, this all sounded a lot better in my head, but what I'm trying to get at, Stella, is that I love you, and I care a lot about you. More than I've ever cared for another person. If… if you want to make this official right now, I'm more than happy to. Hell, if you want to get married right now, we can have the wedding on Saturday. Whatever you want, Stella, because I love you."

"L-Lincoln..."

His speech wasn't elegant at all, but it was the emotion he weaved into his words that made Stella feel like the breath had been punched out of her. She felt overwhelmed with strange emotions. It was like there was a raging black ocean inside her, sending waves as high as skyscrapers down at her. But at the same time, she knew that if she tossed a net into the turbulent waters, what she would pull from them would be love.

To boil the metaphor down to its meaning: she loved Lincoln, and that seemed like the clearest, most obvious thing to her then.

"We can save the wedding for later," she said, half-joking and half-serious. "For now… I'd love to be your girlfriend, Lincoln Loud."

He smiled happily. "And I'd love to be your boyfriend, Stella Ang."

She threw her arms around him and pulled him into a tight embrace. Surprised for a moment, he smiled and hugged her back. Stella couldn't help but laugh warmly. This was it, she realized. This was the commitment, the relationship, she had always wanted. Someone to share her love with, and be loved by in turn. Something she had only ever had with Jordan, before she cut it off with her…

_Jordan._

The name echoed in her mind, and suddenly all her happiness and relief flipped into guilt and confusion. She let go of Lincoln and took a step back. She looked at Lincoln – handsome, reliable, giving – and contrasted it with the picture of Jordan she had in her mind. Jordan was a troubled woman, who had a difficult time dealing with relationships yet tried hard for Stella for as long as she could… and Stella still loved her. She still loved her as much as she loved Lincoln. Was this… was her starting this with Lincoln a betrayal? Was she betraying Jordan in some strange way?

_Jordan doesn't want anything to do with you, _her heart reminded her. It still felt the icy pick of Jordan's word stabbing into it. _She just wants to be friends. Lincoln wants more. He wants to give you what you deserve. Why are you trying to deny yourself this?_

Fortunately – or perhaps unfortunately – Stella didn't have to dwell on that question for too long. Her ringtone blared from her pocket, so she turned away from Lincoln and answered her phone.

"H-Hello?"

She said nothing for a few seconds, listening intently to the other side of the call. Then she gasped loudly. "Yes, yes, we'll be there as soon as possible," she hurriedly said. The call ended, and Stella turned to Lincoln with a pale face and eyes wide with terror.

"Stella, what's wrong?" he asked.

She swallowed, then said, "Lincoln… we were wrong. The Wendigo isn't coming back here."

"What do you mean?"

"There was another murder," Stella squeaked, "just an hour ago."

A sense of vertigo swept through Stella, making her knees buckle. She fell to the ground, but barely felt a thing. Her body was numb. All that registered was the sheer cold terror that clouded Stella's mind like mist.

_Another person died… because of my incompetence..._


	18. Chapter 18

Slinking through the darkness of the alley, the killer seemed more like a shadow than a physical person. She emerged from behind a dumpster that was spilling over with muck and trash. The killer's lips turned up in a scowl. It was disgusting the way these people treated their environment. Did they like stepping on trash when they walked down the sidewalk? Did they find aesthetic pleasure in looking out their windows and seeing garbage spilled everywhere? If she weren't in such a hurry, she would've cleaned it up herself. But she had better things to do; she wasn't a custodian.

Well, in a way, she was.

Some killers murdered out of some sense of misanthropy. _Everyone in the world is shit and it's up to me to kill as many of them as I can, _they shouted in their rage. This particular killer wasn't interested in such melodramatics – it always reeked of "I want to rebel against my middle class upbringing" to her – but in moments like this, she could understand where those guys were coming from.

And in those moments, the idea of eating the flesh of an animal as putrid and hateful as man made her stomach churn.

But then the hunger would strike her. It wasn't a… literal hunger. It was more like the idea of it. It wasn't her stomach that she followed when she was "hungry"; it was that dark little voice in her head that whispered to her to kill and consume. Like a vampire… or a Wendigo.

She only became aware of that stupid nickname recently. At first, she scoffed. But the more time passed, the more it seemed to ring true. A Wendigo was, according to the folklore of the Natives of the region, a person forced into cannibalism by desperate situations that slowly lost their sanity and became obsessed with eating people.

_I can agree with all that, _the killer thought, _except the part about lost sanity. I'm not insane. I'm just more honest than the rest of these people._

Why was it wrong to drink the blood and eat the flesh of humans? _Because humans have dignity!_ society answered. _Humans are sacred and shouldn't be eaten like animals!_

But the funny thing about that was that even though ordinary people shrieked when others were dehumanized by cannibals, they were more than enthusiastic to see them dehumanized in other ways. Why else would there be so many initiatives against the poor and homeless? Why else would there be torture camps, war machines, death penalties, abortion clinics, and internment facilities for families fleeing across the borders? Why else was bigotry and xenophobia so rampant that people would pay hundreds of dollars for tickets to hear some worthless hatemonger parrot their own vile opinions back to them? These civilized, innocent, humane people gladly treated everyone else like animals; all the killer was doing was following their logic to its natural conclusion.

Or maybe she was just a crazy person that wanted a justification to prey on people. Either which way you lean is fine; she wouldn't care what you think of her anyway.

The killer sighed when she realized that she had been standing still, philosophizing, this entire time. Inside her own head, to make it worse. "Forgive me for blabbering," she said to herself, "but in fairness, it isn't the worst thing I'll do today."

She felt pangs of imaginary hunger. The time to strike was now.

She had been watching a small apartment complex in the Downtown area for a while now. Stalking the alleyways around it, she spied specifically on a lesbian couple that came and went at set times. They always left to their night jobs at six, and came back home twelve hours later. That alone made the killer consider them for targets, but then she got up closer to them, seeing what they were like up in person... _that's _when she decided she needed to have them. Both of them had tender, marble skin that made the killer's mouth water. She could only imagine how juicy the blood that flowed underneath their flesh would be.

It was about six a.m. The sun still hadn't risen yet, so the world was coated in a mix of inky blackness and dark navy blue. The killer chuckled, imaging how poetic it would be for the sun to rise and reveal her grisly actions to the world.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a Prius rolling up the street and park in front of the apartment. On cue, the two women the killer had been stalking stepped out of the vehicle and started walking into the building. The killer smirked, donned her black hoodie, and began to follow.

When she stepped into the building, an overweight security guard immediately roused from his chair and stepped over to her. "Never seen you here before," he said. "No visitors allowed at this hour."

"I'm sorry," the killer said, "but I'm not here to visit. One of the women that just walked in dropped their phone, and I'm here to give it back."

The guard grumbled. Something was off about this chick. But ultimately, he shrugged his fat shoulders and let her in. "Those two live on the second floor," he told her. "I think it's the third room."

The killer smirked.

_I know._

She decided to take the stairs rather than the elevator – just for the exercise. When she came to the second floor, she turned back and forth until she caught sight of the bold **3** adorned on one of the rooms. She walked over to it, and was pleased to find that, in their exhaustion, the couple had forgotten to close the door properly. The key was jammed into the hole, but the locking mechanism only half-poked out.

_Perfect, _the killer thought. She slipped into their apartment and locked the door behind her.

She pressed herself up to the wall, extending her ear to listen out for any stray noises. Just a single out-of-place footstep, and she'd either book it out of there or pounce on them with flailing arms. Her teeth grit as the tension weighed down on her. But luckily, she didn't hear anything threatening, so she continued onward. She jumped and dashed from corner to corner, always allowing the walls and shadows to be her cover in case one of them happened to be peering out for her. She paused when she heard noises coming from behind a closed door: it was the muffled sound of two women conversing. _The master bedroom, _the killer realized.

How was she going to do this? Opening the door would be an immediate give-away, and there was always the chance that they had a gun with them. The killer was confident in her knife, but not confident enough to delude herself into thinking it would deflect bullets. Her breast, small as it was, heaved as she debated her next course of action. If only they hadn't closed that door!

But as the killer debated things over, she saw something out of the corner of her eye that made the blood in her veins turn to ice.

The doorknob was shaking.

Before she could react, the door opened, and one of the women stepped out of the room. She caught sight of the stranger in the dark hoodie, and hopped back with fright.

"WHO ARE Y-?"

Her scream was cut short when the killer jumped on her, pinned her to the ground, and sunk the knife right into her throat.

"Melanie? Melanie, what's wrong?"

The apparent worry and fear in the other woman's voice almost gave the killer pause.

Almost.

She ran into the room, brandishing her knife like a slasher from the eighties, and Melanie's girlfriend screamed. She immediately jumped out of bed, her long blonde hair jumping with her, and dived into the corner, balling up and timidly lifting her arms to defend herself. The killer stalked over to her, her dry tongue rapidly licking her lips. She could already _taste_ her dripping down her throat.

There was a lamp by the side of the bed. The screaming blonde caught sight of it. Guided by instincts, she scrambled to reach and grab onto it. She jumped to fight, holding the lamp like a club, her eyes blazing with raw hatred for the home invader.

The woman under the hoodie backed away slightly; she had never encountered this before. Usually she killed her victims before they had a chance to strike back. But watching her opponent tremble with survivalist rage before her eyes… she realized she had gotten way too overconfident and cocky by going after two people at the same time.

_Oh fuck… oh fuck…_

With a battle cry that echoed to the high heavens, the blonde jumped forward and swung the lamp at the killer's face. She managed to dodge, but tripped over her own feet. Falling to the floor, her hand smacked the hard ground and let go off the knife, which flew to the other side of the room. Panicking, the killer tried to grab it, only for the blonde to latch onto her leg.

"Got you," she growled.

The killer hissed, then kicked her in the face. The blonde screamed and let her go, allowing the killer to rush for the corner and take her knife back. Just as she did, the blonde grabbed onto the killer's hoodie and began to tug at it. The killer cried out as the woman's hand went underneath and grabbed onto her hair. She started tugging at it; the scalp of the killer screamed in agony.

Unfortunately for Melanie's would-be avenger, the killer made the perfect move of jabbing her elbow into her opponent's stomach. The breath was knocked out of her, and she fell to the ground, clutching her belly and moaning. The killer, unable to believe her luck, looked at the door, and before she even knew it, she began to run.

She ran out of the room, jumping over the corpse of Melanie. She ran down the stairs, exhaling panicked and terrified breaths. She ran out into the lobby, where she punched the guard in the face when he tried to stop her. She ran right into the alley, and disappeared like a ghost.


	19. Chapter 19

**Guest: They were just random people, not characters from the show. Melanie is a name I made up on the spot.**

* * *

Stella drove so fast to the reported scene of the crime that when Lincoln looked out the window, he didn't see buildings or pedestrians; only a gray blur with occasional bright lights that zipped by. He could hear himself whimpering in fear, so he made sure his seat belt was buckled and prepped himself for the worst.

He then glanced over at Stella, though he felt a little fearful to do so. There was something about the way she rushed him out of the stake out and into the car that made him feel like… like she was mad at him or something. Okay, maybe not mad at him, but something negative along those lines. Lincoln couldn't be too sure, but it really didn't help that Stella didn't say a single word to him the entire ride, nor did she even glance in his direction. Those rare few times she stopped for a red light, she just kept her eyes glued to the road in front of her, her teeth grinding against each other and her hands squeezing the steering wheel like a mob enforcer squeezing a snitch's neck.

Maybe he should say something to her. Something to get her to chillax a little.

"Ste-"

"I could've stopped this," she hissed. Her tone blended hostility and disappointment like they were meant for each other. "I could've stopped this, but instead I was… goddammit, never mind."

_Well, so much for Operation Get Stella to Chillax and Come Up With a Longer Name for this Operation, _thought Lincoln.

"Don't be too hard on yourself," he told her. "It's… it's my fault, really. I brought you along on this… really dumb idea for a stake out. I should've known better than to trust a bunch of dumb rumors. 'Someone with a hoodie hanging around crime scene.' Yeah, no shit, there are a lot of damn people with hoodies."

Stella groaned angrily. She glanced at Lincoln – who flinched – and opened her mouth like she was ready to say something pretty nasty to him… then closed her mouth and went back to looking at the road.

When the light turned green again, she went back to driving, and the two returned to silence. They had no more interaction. It was like each of them was driving alone, except for that one time when Lincoln thought Stella was giving him a side-wise look, but when he checked, he found her steadfastly focused on the road, and he didn't feel brave enough to ask her if she had just been looking at him.

* * *

Just like the last crime scene, the cops were swarming everywhere. Police horns, ambulance sirens, lowly chatter, and the rough barking of dogs filled the air. Lincoln didn't know if the dogs he was hearing were pet dogs, stray dogs, or police dogs, but he really, really hoped it wasn't the latter. Call him paranoid, but he worried that some of them might still have his scent fresh on their hypersensitive noses…

At the moment, an officer strolled by with a large German Shepherd on a leash. When the dog passed by their car, it began barking and squirming underneath its master's firm grip, so Lincoln turned to Stella and nervously said, "I-I think I'll be staying in the car this time around, heh heh."

"You wouldn't even be allowed inside. Remember last time?"

"Oh yeah, right."

Stella got out of the car, but just before she could close the vehicle's door behind her, she heard Lincoln blurt, "Wait!" She ducked her head back in to see what he wanted.

The young man smiled sheepishly. "Hope you do well in there. L-Love you."

Stella said nothing in return. She just lowered the windows slightly, giving her white-haired friend some air to breathe, then closed the door and left Lincoln behind without another word. His tepid smile fell; he sighed and slumped into his seat. _Love you? __God, that was stupid to say. _Putting his head to the window, he began staring out into the grayness of the world, and in his reflection, he could see nervousness in his eyes…

As for Stella, she marched into the building, flashing her identification to whoever would want to see it. No one asked for it – she was known for working on this case, after all. Of course, by now, it was also known that the higher-ups were thinking about taking her off and handing the pursuit of the Wendigo to someone else, so Stella wasn't surprised to feel the stares of her fellow officers on her back. She began to feel uncomfortable, and started looking around for someone who wasn't an officer, but the only person that fit that role was a large, paunchy security guard busily talking to…

"Jordan!"

The detective's partner looked up from her notepad and away from the guard to Stella. As the Asiatic woman stepped closer, she could see some strange emotion going through Jordan's big brown eyes… something almost like longing.

"Stella." Jordan curtly nodded, before turning back to the guard. "Mr. Hill, this is my partner Stella. If you don't mind, could you give her a brief summary of the events?"

"I mean, there ain't much to summarize," Mr. Hill said, scratching the back of his head. "I saw this young lady – really young, like your age or a little younger – and she tells me that she saw one of the girls drop her phone, so… I mean, I was tired and wasn't thinking right, so I let her in. Next thing I know, I'm hearing screams and smashes upstairs, and she comes running out like Hussein Bolt (that's his name, right?). I tried to stop her, but she clocks me in the face and just keeps going until she's gone."

It was only then that Stella noticed the red mark on the side of his face. The man reached up and began rubbing it tenderly. "Still kinda hurts," he admitted in a low tone.

"So… are you sure it was a girl?" Stella asked. "Like, one hundred percent sure?"

He nodded. "Either that or a really feminine boy. Which might be the case. Their voice was a bit… I don't know, hoarse. Like what your voice sounds like after you get done crying or something. Hard to tell if it's a boy or girl."

"Didn't you catch their face?"

The security guard shook his head. "Nope. Sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry about," Jordan reassured. She put her pen and notepad away in her large trench-coat pockets. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Hill. But now we need to talk to the partner of the victim."

"Take care of her, you two," he called after them. "She's a good girl. So was Melanie. She was always so sweet and polite… Christ, it breaks my heart."

His grief served well in making Stella feel even worse about herself.

The elevators were out of commission, so Stella and Jordan took the stairs. Neither said anything the whole way up. It was only when they got to the second floor that Jordan turned to Stella and asked, "Did you and Lincoln find anything?"

Stella decided to answer truthfully. "No."

"No clues? No leads? I just assumed you found something because you look really agitated."

"Do I?" Stella rubbed her face as if she could find her feelings on it. Ultimately, she shrugged and said, "Something did happen, but we can talk about it later. Now's not an appropriate time."

"How convenient. I was going to talk to you about something later as well."

Stella's eyes lit up with curiosity. She wanted to press her friend on it, but Jordan quickly stepped into the apartment building where it had all happened. The atmosphere immediately shifted; it was colder in here, and the air was tainted by the presence of death.

"The murder happened hours ago," Jordan explained to Stella, "but we were only contacted recently by the girlfriend of the deceased. Apparently when she found her lover's body, she fainted. Mr. Hill from below only contacted us once he managed to wake her up. She was passed out for hours."

"Oh..."

"She's sensitive, is what I'm saying. But then again… who wouldn't be in this situation?" Jordan sighed.

They entered the room and asked the other policemen already in there to leave. They all complied, but not without one giving the two detectives a scornful look. Stella's fists shook, but what could she do to defend herself? She knew why she was getting that look, and she honestly deserved it.

The bedroom and hall were completely sectored off with long yellow tape, but the markings on the ground, outlining what the corpse of the victim looked like, were still striking from a distance. But Stella and Jordan weren't interested in the bedroom yet. Their main focus was on the survivor waiting for them in the living room. She was sitting on the couch, her back hunched and her arms resting on her knees. Her eyes were puffy and her red face had trails of tears spilling down from her eyes. _Poor woman, _Stella thought sympathetically.

"Hello, Ms. Marla," Jordan started. "I'm Detective Jordan, and this is my partner Detective Stella. We're so sorry for your loss. We hope tha-"

"With all due respect, detective," the grieving woman said, "can we just hurry through this?"

Jordan stopped speaking, clearly taken aback, then nodded. "Of course."

The next twenty minutes were spent asking all the important questions. Ms. Marla's answers were short and brief, delivered the moment Jordan finished her questions. It made things run smoother, but both of the detectives knew that it wasn't exactly healthy for Marla. Jotting down the woman's words, Jordan also made a mental note to recommend to the other officers to give her some resources.

Finally, when all was said and done, Jordan stuffed her things back into her pocket. "That's all the questions I have. Thank you for your time, Ms. Marla. Again, we'd like to express our sincerest condolences for your loss."

"Thank you," the woman whispered.

Just as Jordan gestured to Stella that it was time to leave, they heard a sudden "WAIT!" from Marla. The woman stood up, reached into her pocket, and put something in Stella's hand. "I guess remembered I had this. I want to give it to you. I know it'll be a big help in the case."

Stella, interested, opened up her palm, where she found strands of hair, too dark to belong to the blonde Marla. She was confused for a moment, until it hit her. She glanced up at Marla, her mouth gaping. "A-Are these…?"

"When I was fighting the Wendigo," Marla said, "I reached under her hoodie and ripped some hairs from her. It's hard to tell from these strands, and it was hard for me to tell during the excitement, but her hair looked… looks… brunette."

Stella looked back down to the hairs, and her smile stretched from ear to ear. Finally! They had conclusive DNA samples!

In her excitement, she didn't notice the way Jordan glared at her palm.


	20. Chapter 20

_This is boring. _

Lincoln stared up at the roof of the car, his eyes glazed over and, as mentioned before, bored. There was only so long a phone could entertain someone when that someone hadn't downloaded any games on it (in his defense, the constant presence of ads made playing mobile games unbearable). So instead he decided to just clock out. A fly was stuck in the car with him, buzzing around and flying all over, and Lincoln's eyes followed the small bug everywhere it went. It was almost like watching a game of soccer: every time the fly approached the small opening in the window, Lincoln heard himself cheering for it. Every time it inexplicably flew away, Lincoln groaned.

It was surprisingly fun. More fun than reading the Ace Savvy Wiki off his phone.

He heard footsteps approach the car, so he straightened himself up. Peering out the window, he saw that it was Stella and Jordan, the latter dressed more like a detective than the former. Lincoln scratched the side of his face as they neared. Jordan, who was used to never sitting in the back, saw Lincoln sitting shotgun and rolled her eyes. Whatever. He could have that seat. At least she wouldn't have to wear a seatbelt in the back.

"Hey Lincoln," she grumbled as she opened the back door. Lincoln watched as the fly flew out past Jordan's face, and he whimpered. What he and that fly had was more than friendship; it was soul-bonding.

When Stella took her place in the driver's seat, Lincoln was surprised to see the excitement and giddiness on her face. It was a welcome surprise. She turned to him with new eyes; sparkling and beautiful. "Lincoln," she said hurriedly and excitedly, "you won't believe what we found in there!"

"Uhh… a dead body? That's not something to be really excited abou-"

"No, not that! Obviously I wouldn't be so happy about that." She was bouncing in her seat now, shaking the entire car with her boundless energy. She leaned into Lincoln's face, smile wide and fevered. Lincoln couldn't help but feel a little terrified of the manic energy she was radiating, but at the same time, he was happy to see her happy. Pushing her face slightly farther away from him, he asked, "So what is it? What's got you so worked up?"

"While we were interviewing the partner of the victim – her name is Marla. The interviewee, not the victim – she told us that while she was defending herself from the killer-"

"Wait, wait, wait." Lincoln waved his hands to indicate to her to stop. "What do you mean 'defending herself'? You mean this Marla lady actually _fought _the Wendigo?"

"She hit her and pulled on her hair, yeah."

Lincoln winced.

"But don't you see Lincoln?! She grabbed her hair and pulled on it! She got hairs, Lincoln. _We finally have a DNA sample!_"

The Royal Woods Wendigo was an expert at cleaning up their DNA trail. When police arrived to the crime scenes she had just created, there would never be any hairs or fingerprints or blood. Despite being a messy eater, the Wendigo was a clean killer. But this time she hadn't had the same opportunity. She had to flee the scene without even "enjoying" her new kill. Maybe hairs weren't the only thing left behind. Maybe there would be a smell for dogs to trail, or hand prints to analyze. Either way, the dark hairs left behind were a godsend, and in a few days time, they would know exactly who they were supposed to be looking for. It was exciting news, no matter how you sliced it.

So why was Stella the only one that seemed happy about it?

Jordan had been oddly sulky and quiet ever since the existence of the hairs was revealed, so Stella didn't pay her much mind. She was surprised to see Lincoln's reaction to it. At first his eyes lit up, but then his face screwed up with a frown. He put his hand on his chin, rubbing it, as he started thinking. When he looked back to Stella, he still didn't seem very enthusiastic. "How do you know they're real?" Lincoln asked. "We know the killer knows how to hide her trail, so how do you know she wasn't just wearing a wig?"

"A wig? Lincoln, Marla ripped the hairs off her head. Do you think the Wendigo super-glued a wig to their head?"

Still, Lincoln frowned. Stella thought he looked unconvinced. His frown changed into a halfhearted smile, and he patted Stella's shoulder. "I guess we'll find out the truth in a few days," he observed. "You're probably right, and if you are? That means that the case has been solved, and we'll finally be able to stop this killer."

"'We?' Fat help you've been this whole time."

Both Stella and Lincoln glanced at Jordan, who, noticing their glares, blushed.

"Oh… did I say that out loud?"

She got her answer when Lincoln scowled at her.

* * *

Usually, the girls would drop Lincoln off at some random stopping point before they headed home, but this time Lincoln seemed insistent on going home with them. Jordan couldn't understand why, but Stella did. She suspected that now that Lincoln and her were… official… he would want to make the most out of their time together. Being on the trail of a bloodthirsty murderer didn't seem to kill the romantic vibe for him… and if she were being truthful, it didn't kill it for her either. There was something nice about having someone like Lincoln – strong, dependable, expert, constant – to face the random chaos and violence of the world with. Made her feel safe and warm.

But there was one thing she would have to face by herself: Jordan. As she drove, Stella caught glimpses of Jordan's face in the rear-view mirror. She seemed stonier than usual, but she still exuded her usual magnificence. Stella couldn't stop her heart from fluttering as she looked upon her, and with her zest for her came guilt.

She was with Lincoln now. She was happy being with Lincoln now. Sometimes… you just need to let things go. And she would be letting things go by telling her, to her face, that she was with Lincoln now.

_Gulp. _She was not looking forward to it.

Over in the back, Jordan was planning the exact opposite. Her experiences today, especially the episode she had at work, reminded her of how she felt about Stella. Stella was more than a throwaway person, to sleep with, have a brief and symbiotic relationship with, and then toss to the side; she was an amazing person that Jordan knew she didn't deserve. And when they got home, Jordan was going to let Stella know, whether Lincoln was around to hear it or not.

The car pulled into the driveway, right until its nose touched the garage. Everyone stepped out at the same time, as if they had practiced, and when Stella locked the car, she tossed the keys to Lincoln. "There are some popsicles in the freezer," she informed him, "so go inside and get some dinner. I need to talk to Jordan alone now."

"O-Okay."

He scampered off, leaving the two women by the side of the heated car.

"You said you have something to tell me?" Stella said to Jordan.

"I do, but you also said the same to me," Jordan replied. "You go first."

"No, seriously, you go first."

"No, I insist you go first."

"Okay!" chirped Stella. Her beaming grin slowly evaporated, then transfigured into a look of deep somberness. She took a deep breath to help relax herself for what was coming. _One Mississippi, two Mississippi. _There was no point in delaying the inevitable, so she decided to just rip the band-aid off in one fell swoop.

"Soooooooo… earlier today, me and Lincoln went out on a stake-out. We wanted to see if the Wendigo would return to the scene of her crimes, like some reports indicated. Of course, that didn't… pan out too well."

Jordan nodded. She was following so far. Good. Of course, the bombshell hadn't been dropped yet. But still, good.

"While we were there, in the apartment… well, we started talking. And when we started talking, Lincoln took me to the side and started telling me about his life. He told me about what it was like for him at home before he ran away, and why he ran away. A-And… well, the emotions were running high, and we had been there together for so long, and he told me that always had a crush on me and I guess I had a bit of a crush on him..."

The brunette's eyes began to widen with realization, so Stella balled her fists, closed her eyes, braced for impact, and admitted, "Me and Lincoln had sex. And… and we're thinking about dating."

The admission lingered in the air like smoke after a fire; at best uncomfortable, and at worst noxious. When she heard Stella's words, Jordan gasped like all the air in her lungs had been violently sucked out. Her eyes enlarged, and her mouth gaped with surprise. With a grim face, Stella looked away from her former girlfriend. Her cheeks burned brighter with every second of silence that passed.

Finally, Jordan said something. She made a strange, silent choking sound, then put on a smile and said, "I-Is that true? Well… I-I'm very happy for you. Very happy for the both of you."

She didn't even try to hide how much of a lie that was.

"Jordan, I-"

"No, no, it's fine," Jordan insisted. "It's great that you're moving on with your life. I mean, if anything, I'm glad. Maybe now you can stop checking me out as pathetically as you sometimes do."

"Excuse me?" Stella asked. Her tone was cold and offended.

Jordan didn't say anything in response. She just glanced to the side and stood there, in front of Stella, wordlessly. Finally, she sighed. "I'm sorry," she whispered. She then spun in place and started walking away.

"Wait!" Stella cried. "Didn't you want to tell me something?"

Jordan didn't stop walking. She never answered.


	21. Chapter 21

**anonymous789: lol what's funny is that I had that wig-line in mind for days, but I thought about taking it out because I didn't think it would work well in context. Then I saw you mention wigs, and I said to myself, "Huh. Guess maybe it does."**

* * *

That night, the fog rolled in. It wasn't a normal, run-of-the-mill fog either. It was much more heavy and more humid than usual. If someone had looked out their window, they would swear that someone had just splashed their window planes with thick soup. To Jordan, Stella, and Lincoln, it felt like nature was responding to their feelings; miscommunicated love and secrets made physically manifest.

Of course, none of them had time or energy for such poetics. They were all preparing for bed, and trying to avoid each other as much as possible. Jordan couldn't help but feel like a stranger in her own home; it was two-on-one, Lincoln and Stella versus her. She thought about that as she showered, the streams of warm water cascading down her silky flesh to give her the relief she desperately craved but couldn't fully enjoy. Her fingers, kneading her hair and scalp, began to rush and shake aggressively as Jordan was hit by a wave of anger. She was angry at Lincoln for taking Stella from her. She was angry at Stella for choosing him over her. And, most importantly, she was angry at herself for losing her best friend.

At her lowest moments, she wondered if she deserved it.

With a sigh, she closed the faucet and stepped out of the shower. She wrapped herself in a pink towel and went over to the sink to brush her teeth. When she was done, she spit everything out, then opened the door to find Lincoln standing there, grinning awkwardly and looking past her to the toilet.

"A-Are you done?"

Jordan wanted to punch him. But she didn't. She just strolled past him without a word, went into her room, and closed the door.

His stupid grin quickly fell from his face. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he stared at her door. Even when he got on the john and started relieving himself, he couldn't let go of his uncomfortable feeling around Jordan. It wasn't just about Stella, no matter how much that might seem… it was about the case. Lincoln thought that… no way… she couldn't, right? He was just being paranoid and dumb, there was no reason to make such a big deal about…

_I can't risk it. Even if it's just a guess, I can't risk it._

He didn't want to do this. He really didn't. If he was wrong, then he would feel really guilty. But he had to set that aside and focus on himself… and on Stella. He already lost her once, when he ran away to the dark streets of Royal Woods, and he didn't want to go through that again. If there was even the slightest chance that Jordan was… damn, he didn't even want to think about it, but if there was even the slightest chance that she was planning what he thought she was planning, that was no good.

When he stared washing his hands, he glanced at himself in the mirror. The bags under his eyes had gotten darker and his skin had paled; most likely side effects of his exhaustion. He groaned as he thought of how much more exhaustion he was about to put himself through, but reassured himself that it would be okay in the end.

_It'll be okay... hopefully..._

* * *

Stella sat at her desk, with a manila folder opened on top of it. She looked down at the pages, but she didn't read them. Her eyes scanned them over and over, but nothing ever clicked. Her lips flinched into weak smiles as she recalled that this was how pretty much everything started: her sitting over a manila folder and just barely reading it. A lot had happened since that fateful day in the cafe, and the reappearance of Lincoln was easily the most important. It was the best thing that had happened to her in a long time, and also the most complicating and frustrating.

That was mostly because of Jordan.

She couldn't help but feel like her relationship with Jordan was now on thin ice, if not completely wrecked. Maybe it was inevitable, but Stella really liked Jordan, and she wanted things to last with her. She had wanted to do this "just friends" thing just to have her around, but maybe it was too difficult. Maybe she had to make a choice. It wasn't like she could somehow convince Jordan and Lincoln to have a polyamorous relationship with her… or could she?

She heard the door behind her open, and spun around in her seat to see Lincoln stepping in and closing the door behind him. "Lincoln? What is it?" she asked. "If you're going to ask about pajamas, then I'm sorry, we don't have any."

"Pajamas? You know what, never mind that." The young man shook his head like a wet dog would. When he looked back at Stella, his eyes were sharp and… a little scared. "I need to talk to you," he told her, his voice a little raspy. "But we need to be quiet about it."

"Quiet? Why?" Her face flushed bright red. "D-Do you want to h-have sex? Now?"

And now he was blushing as well. "It's not about s-sex," he said. "It's about the case. I think… well, I got some bad news, and I really think I need to tell you this now."

Goosebumps broke out over Stella's arms. She already had a bad feeling about this. The hushed, nervous quality of Lincoln's tone wasn't helping her much either. "Something about the Wendigo?" she asked, just for clarification.

He nodded grimly.

"Okay, let me just go get Jordan-"

"No, don't!" His voice raised and he shot his hand out to grab Stella. She pulled back, ready to force him off, until she saw the sheer terror on his face. He was scared shitless of her going to tell Jordan, and that, more than anything, put Stella on edge. Swallowing, she stepped away from the door, and Lincoln withdrew his hand, letting it fall limply by his side. "Shit, I'm sorry," he whispered, "but I really don't want Jordan to hear this. I mean, of course I wouldn't."

"Lincoln… just spit it out," she ordered him. "What are you talking about?"

"Okay, okay… Stella, do you remember those hairs that Marla lady ripped off the Wendigo's head?"

"Yeah?"

"What color were they?"

Stella scratched her head. "Well, it was hard to tell. They looked different under the lights and in the shadows… they weren't blonde hairs or ginger, that's for sure..."

"Don't you think they looked really brunette?"

"I… I don't know. Maybe. Maybe black, maybe brown. Look, Lincoln, what are you trying to get at here?"

"Just follow along with me, okay? It'll make sense at the end," he reassured. Wetting his lips, he continued by saying, "Stella… have you noticed how oddly Jordan's been acting today?"

She had, but for some reason, she didn't want to admit it. "No."

"It's just that… err… ever since Marla gave you those hairs, she's been really moody and sulky, huh? Like she isn't happy about us having them."

"I… I'm sure there's something else that's on her mind..."

"And I don't know if you've noticed this, but every single time the Wendigo strikes, she's not around. Me and you are off doing something, she's somewhere else, and then the murder happens."

It was dawning on Stella what Lincoln was suggesting. A sense of numb shock hit her nervous system hard. Her knees nearly buckled and fell, and her breaths were short and horrified. "No..." she breathed.

"Stella… I'm sorry but… but I think Jordan is the-"

"NO!"

Lincoln fell silent for a moment, letting her scream linger in their ears. Then, with a slow, sad sigh, he said, "I think Jordan is the killer."

He lowered his head and gaze to the ground, as if he was ashamed to be the one to tell Stella. He couldn't bear to look at her in that moment.

"I-I'm sorry," he whispered.

His words may have been soft, but the revelation they carried struck Stella like lightning. She felt stunned, breathless, dizzy, and paralyzed. Her vision seemed to blur around the edges, and to darken towards the middle. Her breaths were slow before, but now she felt like there was a boulder compressing her breast, preventing her from even a sip of air. Her mind, in particular, was split and torn; it was as if the moment Lincoln made his claim, it had divided itself into two voices. One voice shouted that he was wrong, while the other screamed that he was right. They toiled in her mindscape, like feuding giants, and brought Stella pain as they fought for dominance.

Perhaps she was overreacting. She was an empathetic person – always had been – but maybe this was going too far. But she couldn't help it. If this had just been something Lincoln had said randomly, she wouldn't have minded. But there was something that made her mind:

How much sense it all made.

Jordan _was_ acting strangely when the hairs where found. Jordan _was_ always absent when the murders were committed. The darker implication began to set in for Stella: Jordan was in charge of the case. She was in charge of hunting the killer down, and she had made minimal effort towards that. Had she tampered with evidence? Had she deliberately slowed things down? Had she deliberately been sending her and Lincoln off to random places to keep them occupied while she stalked the streets and terrorized the populace? Her heart told her that wasn't true, but the facts… they lined up perfectly.

"No," she finally forced herself to say. "No. Jordan would… she would never… how could you even say that about her?!"

"But, Stella-"

"Lincoln, she is my best friend!" Stella insisted. "I know her more than anyone, a-and I know she wouldn't ever hurt the innocent."

"You don't sound very convinced," Lincoln said slowly.

"I am."

"Stella-"

"I AM!"

Her body trembled like an electric current was racing through her. She blinked back the tears that blurred her vision. Her throat felt dry and hoarse. She was a mess, she knew, and the only thing that kept her standing was her own stubborn indignation.

Lincoln didn't say anything at first. He glanced guiltily at the wall. When he finally braved a step towards her, he studied her reaction. She didn't flinch or step back, so he took another step forward… and then another… and then another…

When he stood in front of her, she collapsed into his arms.

"I didn't mean to upset you," he told her. "I just… I don't think it's safe here. Not anymore."

Stella said nothing.

"So… please, Stella… let's leave here. Just for a little while. If she's innocent, then everything will be alright. And if she's guilty… well, you know..."

_She won't be able to get to us._

Sometimes it's the words that are unsaid that are the most clear.

A limp Stella raised her head to look into his eyes. They were filled with such warmth and care that it barely even surprised Stella when she felt herself nodding.


	22. Chapter 22

The next few minutes were a blur of energy and emotion. Stella vaguely remembered herself stuffing sparse clothing and other essential items – Lincoln told her it would be best to pack light and only take the basics – into a black backpack. She didn't even remember what exactly she had put in her backpack (she put perfume in there, right? Perfume's important). Her mind was elsewhere while her body toiled.

_Is Jordan really the killer? _was the question that plagued her.

There seemed to be something so unbelievable about that. Stella had known Jordan since she was in elementary school, and from then until now she had known Jordan to be a kind, responsible, and empathetic person. Sure, she could be cold around the edges sometimes, and was harsh with her words when she wanted to be, but that didn't translate to cannibalistic murderer!

But Stella was a detective, and she knew things about the minds and lives of killers. This may have been her first serial killer case, but this wasn't the first serial killer she had studied. Before her hunt for the Wendigo had even started, she had read books and watched reports about this demented segment of the populace, and if there was one disturbing thing that tended to pop up in a lot of the stories she studied, it was how the people closest to them never suspected a thing. Their friends, their family, their neighbors, their spouses… the phrase "he was always such a nice person" was a common one on the news for a reason. The "best" killers were also master manipulators... and Stella knew Jordan was smart enough to manipulate.

Cold dread settled in when she thought about how long Jordan had been manipulating those around her. How long she might've been manipulating _her_.

She really didn't want to believe any of this, but everything seemed to line up in favor of Lincoln's accusation. Where was Jordan when she and Lincoln were at the mall together? There was no way it took that long to park a car. Stella could feel the bile rising to her throat when she thought about how a classmate of hers had been murdered by Jordan while she was busy having coffee with Lincoln. Sadness swelled in her chest, and with it came anger and fear.

She slung the backpack over her chest, and glanced over to Lincoln. The white-haired youth was staring solemnly at the floor, wringing his hands. It seemed odd, until Stella remembered that Jordan was Lincoln's friend as well. Maybe her betrayal didn't hurt him the same way it hurt her, but it would still sting all the same.

_Listen to yourself, _a small flickering part of her consciousness said. _You're talking like she's one hundred percent guilty. _

Stella didn't believe she was one hundred percent guilty, but at the same time, she didn't want to chance it. A cornered animal always became violent and vicious. If Jordan was the killer, and those were her hairs being tested in the lab… there was no telling what she might do. Maybe she'd lash out and decide to take down as many people as she could before ending herself. Maybe she'd strategically smother her and Lincoln in their sleep and flee the country. There was no telling what was going to happen next. It felt like God was playing dice, leaving the vertigo that comes with games of fate for His subjects to deal with.

"Lincoln," she said softly. He blinked and sniffed suddenly, then looked up at her. She nodded briskly at him. "I'm ready. L-Let's go."

His frown stretched his face. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be. It's not your fault that… that Jordan might… well, it's better safe than sorry."

With a heaving groan, he got up from the bed. He crept silently over to the door and pressed his ear against it. When he heard nothing suspicious, he opened the door and took a single step out. His head swung from side to side as he checked the hallway. Nothing. Good. He gestured to Stella to follow him, and the two began to make their swift way down the stairs and out of the house.

The night's air was cool and crisp, and it helped Stella breathe after the claustrophobic sense of choking she had inside. Stepping out onto the lawn, she gazed out into Royal Woods; it seemed so antithetical to her home. The house behind her was warm and secure, while the city, with fog obscuring every shadow, seemed like a hostile creature actively trying to ward her away from it. She looked back to Lincoln, expecting him to feel the same, but saw that his face was serious and unfettered.

_Of course he's like that. This isn't the first time he's run away…_

"Should we take a cab?" Stella asked him.

"No," he answered, shaking his head. "We'll take the car."

"But that's Jordan's car."

"Exactly. It'll help us get away and also slow her down."

Good point.

Stella patted her pockets, praying that she had again forgot the key in there, when Lincoln reached into his own and pulled out a jangling keychain, a puckish grin growing on his face. "You gave these to me, remember?" he said with a chuckle. He tossed them back at her, then rushed to the passenger seat. Stella got in the car, started the engine, and listened as the car hummed.

"Where are we even going?" Stella asked. "Do we even have somewhere to go? And please don't tell me to take us to KFC or something."

"Obviously not," he snapped, irritated and lowkey offended. "We need some place safe and secure until the DNA test results come back and definitively prove whether Jordan is the killer or not. So… we're going back to my place."

Stella's eyes widened. It had just dawned on her that she didn't even know where Lincoln lived. Truthfully, she didn't even think he had a house at all - she imagined him as the type that would sleep on a park bench. "You have your own place?" she asked.

"It's a bit out of the way," he explained, "and my paranoia kept me from telling you about it. Sorry, but you're still a cop, and I didn't know if I could trust you."

Stella chose not to take offense. "So where are we going exactly? Left, right, up, down?"

"Go to Ketcham Park, then take a sharp right, and I'll tell you where to go from there."

"Lincoln..."

"Stella, do you trust me?"

His eyes shimmered with a strange mixture of uncertainty and assuredness. It was strange to look at. But in that expression was something Stella hoped she could hold onto. She couldn't hold onto Jordan, killer or not. So she jumped a leap of faith and decided to put her trust in Lincoln.

She nodded. "I do."

The car rolled out of the driveway, bumping onto the main road. With a screech of the tires, it drove off into the mist.

If either Lincoln or Stella had looked back to the house, at the living room window, they might've seen Jordan staring out from behind the curtain, watching them as they drove away…

* * *

The twinkling stars and the bright moon in the sky watched over Stella and Lincoln as they made their escape. With their golden light, they illuminated the way for Stella as she tore through the foggy streets. Oddly for a night in Royal Woods, there was hardly any traffic, but Stella wasn't about to complain about an open road. For time to time, she glanced back at Lincoln, who stared out the window nearly the entire ride.

It was a silent ride, to say the least.

The first words that were said were, "Okay, keep going straight ahead." That was Lincoln, pointing his arm forward and directing Stella through the murkiness.

From there, it was a series of lefts and rights and roundabouts, until they came to a long, narrow road, full of dilapidated houses and overgrown lawns. Fireflies glowed in the tall weeds and grasses, and the booming sound of an owl's hoot echoed through the lane. Stella drove until they reached the last house on the left, at which point Lincoln told her to stop.

When she got out of the car, she took a gander at Lincoln's place. It was… cozy. Cozy here being a synonym for "piece of shit".

"You live here?" Stella asked, incredulously.

"Yeah. What, is there a problem with it?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "No. It's fine. Perfect place to raise a family."

"Are you… suggesting something?"

"N-No! Of course not. You… let's just go inside."

She couldn't be sure, but Stella could've sworn she saw him smirk.

Lincoln pulled out a pair of keys from his front pocket, and opened the door. As it swung open, Stella looked inside and saw darkness. Not just the darkness that comes from keeping the lights off, but the darkness that comes from keeping the lights off, closing the blinds, nailing wooden boards to the windows, and smashing every lamp and light bulb in sight. The house groaned, like it was alive and breathing on her, and Stella felt her skin crawl.

He gestured for her to enter, standing at the door like a dutiful usher. Stella stepped in, her breaths shallow and cold. She heard the door close behind her, and with that her only light source was extinguished.

"Lincoln, can we open the li-"

She stopped speaking as she felt him grab her from behind, and shove a cloth into her face.

_LINCOLN! _She tried to scream, but her voice was completely muffled by the cloth. A familiar scent hit her nose, making her heart race.

_Chloroform!_

She began to struggle and tried to shake him off, but it was no use. Her strength waned with every passing second. Her eyelids were dropping with every motion she made, and before she knew it, she was falling to the ground, breathing in the chemical fumes. With one final, failed attempt to shake him off, she fell to the ground, completely unconscious.

Breathing heavily, Lincoln stood up. He stuffed the cloth back into his pocket, and stared down at Stella with eyes wide with guilt... and glee.

"Alright." He slapped his palms together and rubbed them. "Let's go on to Stage Two."

He grabbed Stella's ankles, and under the cover of the inky darkness, dragged her down into the basement.


	23. Chapter 23

**Don't you just hate it when you made a big reveal in your story only for your WiFi to get cut off so you can't even read the reactions or post the next chapter? Siiiiiigh…**

* * *

_Hands bound. Can't move. So tired. Can't… open eyes. Smell… smells funny. Like meat. Smelled something before I went to sleep. Chloroform… LINCOLN!_

Stella's eyes shot wide open as she awoke with a jolt. Breathing heavily, she stared into darkness. The entire room was covered in an impenetrable black that Stella's blurry eyes would take a long time to adapt to. She shook in her seat, trying to stand up, only to find that she was tied up in place with rope and twine. She shook her hands, and found them bound behind her back with the handcuffs that she kept on her person. Worst of all, she had been stripped down to her bra and underwear, which did little to protect her when a rush of cold wind breezed past her.

Wait… where was that wind coming from?

With the cold air came light. A shining, searing white light. Stella screamed as her wide pupils were blasted with brightness. After several seconds of pain, she braved to open one eye to see what was going on.

A door had been opened, which explained the breeze, the light, and the two figures standing over her…

"Lincoln," Stella hissed when one of the figures came into view.

The white-haired young man smirked. "That's my name. No need to be so hostile about it."

Glancing around, Stella could see that they were all in a basement. Probably the basement of the house Lincoln had lured her into – she was ninety-nine percent sure this wasn't his real home, if he even had one. That wasn't a good thing if that was the case; Stella could recall that the house barely had any neighbors, and the few neighbors around would probably not hear her if she called for help. Not when she was underground in a house at the end of the lane.

Her heart started to beat with fear, but it wasn't until she glanced at the other figure that it started pounding against her rib cage. She couldn't stifle her gasp when she saw that, by Lincoln's side, was a young woman with inky black hair, dressed in a black hoodie and a black dress that covered her feet. Her skin was unnervingly pale, and the corners of her mouth were dripping with blood. _Human blood_, Stella realized.

It just occurred to her that the pinching smell of meat in the basement might be human meat.

"The Wendigo," Stella breathed.

"Ah, I see you've noticed my sister," Lincoln said. He wrapped his arm around the young woman's shoulder, and drew her in for a half-hug. "This is like a really bad way to meet the family, huh? Oh well. Lucy, say hello to my girlfriend."

"Sigh. Hello."

"Lincoln, what's going on? Who is this? Why are you doing this? Wh-"

He held up his hand, silencing her. "I guess you would be a little confused right now," he said, "so I'll explain everything. Lucy, dear, can you go get us some drinks? No blood, please."

Lucy shrugged. "Your loss." She went to go upstairs and fetch some drinks, but not before leaning in to her brother's face... and kissing him on the lips. Stella felt her stomach churn as she watched the brother and sister meld their lips together. If she looked closely, she could see their tongues wrestling each other, and saliva dripping out of their mouths.

"What was that?" Stella rasped after Lucy disappeared upstairs.

"All in due time, Stella, my dear."

"Don't call me your dear or your girlfriend."

"Stella, please, you're jumping to conclusions-"

"Jumping? YOU'RE FUCKING KISSING YOUR SERIAL KILLER SISTER!"

Her throat wasn't prepared for shouting, so Stella immediately went into a coughing fit. Each cough seemed more wracking and painful than that last. When she finally calmed down, she looked at Lincoln, her eyes brimming with soft tears. His expression was as neutral as humanly possible, and Stella felt herself shiver when she noticed the lack of light in his eyes.

"She's not the killer," Lincoln said, smoothly and softly. "I am."

"Wh-what?"

"Yeah. I'm the Royal Woods Wendigo." He said it so casually you'd think he was talking about being an office worker. His tongue ran over his lips like a moist worm. "I've been doing his whole serial killer thing for a long time, though. I'm surprised, really. This is supposed to be one of the best police forces in the state, yet it took them years to find out there was a serial killer in their midst. Fucking lmao."

"You're the killer?" Stella repeated, still unable to believe what she was hearing. "But… how? Why?"

"How? With a knife most of the time. Why? Well… that's a long story," he chuckled. "Funny enough, though, it does start with you..."

* * *

A sixteen year old Lincoln's ears twitched when he thought he heard something. He pulled the blanket off his head, sat up in his bed, and listened for it again. His suspicions were confirmed when he heard a knocking at his door. Sighing, he cleared his throat and groggily croaked, "Come in."

The door slowly opened, and his younger sister Lucy stepped inside. Her nose crinkled as the rancid smell of an unwashed Lincoln hit her nostrils, but she chose not to say anything. She knew her brother was in enough pain already.

_All because of that Stella slut_, she thought angrily.

Her fists clenched with silent rage. How dare that bitch refuse her brother over and over again? Did she not see how perfect he was? Did he not see how smart and kind and loyal and handsome and great he was? Lucy wished that he felt for her as strongly as she felt for him; it was a tragedy in every sense of the word that the one girl lucky enough to have Lincoln fall for her didn't even reciprocate his feelings.

The corners of Lucy's mouth twitched, though, at the prospect… at the implications…

She sat down by her depressed brother's side. She noted that even when he was depressed, he still radiated eminence. She wrapped her hands around her brother, and put her head softly against his shoulder.

"Why are you hugging me?" she heard Lincoln ask her. "I thought you hated hugs."

"Not with you," she replied softly.

Lincoln sighed, then weakly smiled. "At least one girl thinks I'm worth it."

Lucy's frown, already deep, deepened. Her grip on her brother tightened. "You should forget about Stella," she whispered into his ear. "She doesn't see you for what you're worth. Other girls… I'm sure there are other girls that do..."

Out of the corner of his eye, Lincoln noticed the blush creeping onto his younger sister's cheeks. The warmth that radiated from them burned his face. Coughing uncomfortably, he stood up, forcing his sister to let go of him. He took a few steps, then cleared his throat. "I'm... sure there are, Luce. But no one's like Stella. I've loved her ever since I was a kid. I just… I just wish she could see how good I am for her!"

Despite her envy of the Filipina, Lucy appreciated Lincoln's romantic sensibilities. Weaker men would abandon those who would not return their love, but not Lincoln! He was strong, and he pursued her for many years, even at his own expense. Here he stood in front of her, slowly withering away, all for the woman he desired. If he were the protagonist of one of her novels, Lucy would pine for someone like him. But he was real, standing before her, so Lucy pined for him and him alone.

Lincoln turned his face to meet his sister's. The line of his mouth curved into an awkward, pained smile. "I don't suppose you have a love potion or something that can help me with Stella," he said.

Lucy shook her head. "I don't. But I do have something that can help you in love."

"What is it?"

A yelp ripped from his lips as she grabbed his arm and pulled him closer. Her lips, painted black, smiled at him. This wasn't one of her usual smiles, of scheming or mischief, but of strong empathy. She opened his fist, and planted his palm on her chest. Lincoln blushed as he felt her heart racing underneath her supple chest.

"_Me._"

"W-What?" he choked.

"I've always loved you, Lincoln. I've loved you more than a brother. You're strong and kind and loyal and romantic… you're everything I want from a partner. My blackest nightmares are upset by your presence, Lincoln, but what upsets me more is watching you waste away for a girl who doesn't love you… not like I do. Never like I would."

"Lucy, what are you saying?"

"I know it's a shock," she admitted, "and that it's forbidden. If the world outside this room ever discovered our love, it would be the end of our family and the end of us. But I don't care about the world outside this room. It's a rotten world filled with hypocrites and thieves. Everyone is a selfish, horrible person… except for you, brother. And I want to be with you, now and forever."

Her admission of her feelings hung in the air. Like thin wisps of smoke, they wormed into Lincoln's ears, twisting and curling. A strange feeling happened upon him: it was a mix of cold dread and warm appreciation. His morals told him to leave her, but he felt his body, almost as if he didn't control it, sitting back down by her side. She blushed and smiled at him, and took his hand in hers.

No one had made him feel this way: so appreciated and loved. Before she came into his room, he thought of himself as less than a worm. He felt disgusting and loathsome, like a misshapen, albino rat wracked with cancers and diseases. But Lucy didn't see that. What she saw in him was an almost divine figure.

It made Lincoln feel… good.

"Lucy..."

She perked at the sound of her name.

"...kiss me."

Smiling, she leaned into his mouth. Their lips came together, crashing like waves, and the brother and sister reveled in their embrace.

For once, everything felt right.

* * *

**I know I'm cutting off at a bad point, but trust me, next chapter is when everything gets explained.**


	24. Chapter 24

The love affair of Lucy and Lincoln went on for weeks after that kiss. While they both knew they could never show the world their love like other couples could, they were resigned to that fact, albeit reluctantly. They were happy in the shadows and dark corners where they exchanged shy kisses and soft murmurs. The forbidden tie of their sibling love did little to diminish their feelings – if anything, it only made them stronger. Having finally found love in her brother, Lucy was content.

Her partner, on the other hand, still had doubts.

When he sat in the classroom, Lucy far from his reach, Lincoln's sight would always fall on the beautiful Stella Ang. Despite how she hurt him, there was something doting in Lincoln's nature that he could never fully suppress. When he was reunited with Lucy at the end of each day, the thoughts and daydreams of Stella went away, but they took their toll as they reminded Lincoln that what he shared with Lucy could never last…

And the came the day when the Loud House's most private secret was secret no more.

It was almost silly how it happened. The day it happened was the day Lincoln and Lucy first tried to consummate their love with their bodies. They stripped each other down, played awkwardly with each other's genitals, then truly prepared themselves for sex. Lucy lay flat on the bed as Lincoln mounted her, his erection poking at her entrance. When he finally penetrated her, he groaned loudly. He began thrusting his hips, his cock diving deep into her.

Just as Lucy gasped, they heard the most horrifying noise in the world.

In their excitement to finally make love, they had forgotten to lock the door. So when their younger sister Lola came to Lincoln's room, hoping to make demands of her brother, she found herself instead walking in on the horrid intercourse taking place…

"Lola, don't scream!"

...and she screamed.

* * *

"...I don't think it'll be too hard for you to figure out what happened next. You are a world-class detective, after all." Lincoln flashed Stella a smirk that was both mocking and dangerous. "Oh, wait, that's Jordan I'm thinking of, not you. My bad~"

Stella growled angrily at him. If she weren't bound, she would've jumped him just for that. "So that story you told me back during the stake-out…"

"All a lie," he said. "My mother having an affair, my sisters moving away… all fiction. The only part of that that was true was my old man beating my ass, but I think you realize why he did that now." Lincoln covered his mouth as he let out an unnervingly high-pitched chuckle, like that of a jackal. His entire face seemed like a mishmash of predatory forms: he had the demented grin of a hyena; the sly, trickster gleam of a fox; and the aggressive energy of a Kodiak, more than willing to tear into his prey. It made Stella shiver with fear. She didn't know what he was planning to do to her, but something told her that once he was done talking, it was going to be bad news for her.

_I need to stall for time, _she thought. Luckily, she had a thousand and one questions to ask.

"So you and Lucy ran away after your family found out about… _that_. How did you two live?"

"It wasn't easy," said the young man. He pulled up a chair and sat in it, facing his foe. "We had to do all sorts of little things to survive. Obviously neither of us could finish high school, and our family were less than likely to give us help, seeing how they didn't know where we were… we just found odd jobs, here and there. Stole money whenever we could, too. Eventually, I just decided to become a private investigator. Faked a few papers, got myself all checked out… that's how I can afford nice places like this."

He raised his hands in an arch to display the majesty of the dark, musty basement.

"Seems you also became a serial killer too," Stella muttered.

"I did. But… but I didn't have a choice in the matter." He looked back up to the stairs, then looked back to Stella and leaned in as if he were about to impart a great secret on her. "The stress of losing our family and our home… well, Lucy was a young girl at the time, and it took a toll on her mind. She developed… what's it called… psychosis? Well, whatever it was, she began to think of herself as a vampire. A vampire that drinks from people. She needed blood, Stella, or she would cry and starve herself. So I just did what any good older brother would."

Stella gasped, and Lincoln's eyes hardened. "I killed, Stella. I killed people for their blood and flesh, and gave it to her. And I'd also take their money. I needed it a lot more than they did."

"Why women?"

Lincoln seemed confused. "What?"

"All of the Wendigo's… all of your victims were women. Why?"

He scratched his chin, mulling it over. "Well, normally I'd have to seduce them. You know, be all romantic and flirty and shit. Then I'd lure them to a bedroom or whatever, knock them out, and kill them. It's surprisingly effective. I managed to seduce you, didn't I? Hell, I managed to do way more than seduce you. I even tricked you time after time after time. There was the whole 'Jordan is the Wendigo' thing, and… oh, and there's also how I got you to think that Lucy's hair was actually brown just by holding it in the right light and saying it was brown. That was pretty good, if I say so myself."

He grinned as he reached for her, and began curling strands of her long black hair around his finger. Stella snapped her teeth at his hand, but he managed to pull it back just in time. He seemed amused by her effort. "In any case," he continued, "I didn't do all the killings myself. Obviously I had Lucy hunt for her own food while I was palling it up with you and Jordan. I can't believe she also went after women only, though. Maybe it's just coincidence… or maybe it's just the taste..."

Lincoln then leaned in, a threatening grin on his face.

"_I wonder if she'd be willing to drink your blood._"

Stella couldn't help herself; she whimpered.

When he heard that, he threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, I was just kidding! I would never do that to you, Stella. Because… well..."

Lincoln's shoulders fell slack as he relaxed them. Stella watched as the manic light in his eyes slowly dwindled away, his energy dwindling alongside it. He looked at her, and for a moment he didn't look like the conniving killer she had discovered him to be, but as the lone awkward young man she had known over the last few days. He seemed friendlier and warmer. He reached his hand out towards her, but when she flinched away from his touch against her face, he withdrew. Stella hated how she enjoyed the feeling of of his fingers brushing her burning cheek.

"This whole thing," he started, "began because of you. I loved you so much, Stella, and even if you don't believe me when I say this… I want you to know that I still love you now. Lucy tried as hard as she could to replace you, but _no one_ can ever replace you in my heart. So… me and Lucy are going to be leaving in a few days, so I want to ask you… why not join us?"

Stella was stunned. "_J-Join you?_" she repeated in quiet disbelief.

He nodded, a little too enthusiastically. "I mean, why not? What do you have that you're so desperately clinging to? Your job seems miserable, you don't make enough money, and Jordan… well, let's be real, Jordan doesn't appreciate you at _all_."

"You… you don't know that. You don't know her."

"I got enough glimpses to know what I'm talking about," he responded coolly. "So if you're going to refuse me for her, I'll spare you the trouble and just break your heart right here. But come on, Stella, think about it. You, me, and Lucy… we could do so much together. Think of all the fun we can have on the wrong side of the law. Think of the _freedom!_ We can travel the country in a car, we get to use all kinds of weapons and fun toys, we can do literally whatever we want to the people who piss us off or just cross our path… w-we can be finally be together. We can start a family. Whatever you want for us, Stella."

His cheeks blushed bright red. His eyes sparkled with childish sprightliness. He seemed, in that moment, like an innocent boy that wanted to show his friend the greatest time of her life. He seemed so much like that that Stella had trouble meeting his gaze. She lowered her eyes to the ground, a dark shadow crossing them.

"Lincoln..."

He leaned in, ready for the good news.

"...go fuck yourself."

His smile was instantly wiped from his face.

Stella looked up from the ground to meet his eyes. Her teeth were clenched and bared like an angry wolverine. "This whole thing started because of _me_? Fuck you, Lincoln, I had nothing to do with that. This whole thing started because you were too immature to handle being rejected by a girl. I told you 'No' in high school a couple times, and this is what you do? Start banging your little sister and killing innocent people? And now you want me to be a part of that. You want me to be a part of some… sick murder harem?! Fuck that, I'd rather be dead."

Cold anger made its way to Lincoln's eyes. "Is that your final answer?" he asked in a voice chillier than the tundra.

Fear crept into Stella's chest, but she nonetheless answered, "Yes."

His lips peeled back from his teeth, revealing a terrifying face of anger. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a rusty knife. He took a step towards her, and Stella forced herself to put on a brave face. Her lips began to move, silently reciting the Lord's Prayer. Only two words flashed into her mind as Lincoln menacingly came closer:

_Goodbye, Jordan._

Jordan would never know that. Jordan would never know how much Stella cared for her. Jordan would never know how much Stella ached to be with her. Jordan would never know that, in her final moments, all of Stella's thoughts were focused on her. She hated that. She hated knowing she would cause Jordan pain with her death. She hated...

"LINCOLN!"

Suddenly, Lucy burst into the basement, rushing down the stairs and flailing her arms in panic. Lincoln looked back to the source of his distraction. "What is it?" he barked.

Her face seemed paler than usual. She pointed upstairs like a scared little girl pointing at her dark monster-infested closet. That made Stella's heart skip with hope. C-Could it be…?

"Police," Lucy said. "They're coming."


	25. Chapter 25

**Guest: It's more likely that it's going to be just four more chapters. Maybe five, but definitely not six.**

* * *

Jordan's suspicions were peaked the moment she overheard Lincoln and Stella talking behind closed doors. She didn't eavesdrop on them – she couldn't even, because of how muffled their words were – but when she walked through the hall and heard the two of them talking in voices that were too low to be normal whispers… something about that set her alarms off.

She stayed in her room as she heard two pairs of footsteps rush by. Intrigued, she followed them down the stairs, making perfectly sure to stay out of sight. When the duo got in the car, Jordan peaked through a thin hole in the curtain. She watched Stella rev up the car and drive away.

Okay, something was definitely off.

Rushing to grab her jacket, she burst out the front door, shabbily locked it behind her, and began pursuing the car. _Her _car, she thought bitterly. All she had was a crappy bicycle, and she felt a little stupid pedaling after them while also trying to stay out of their sights. The image of a really dumb dog chasing after a truck came to her mind, and Jordan had to shake her head to get rid of it.

She was glad she was in good shape, too, because Stella drove a lot. She drove past Ketcham Park and Flip's Food and Fuel and a ton of other Royal Woods hot-spots. Jordan didn't take much time to admire the sights either – she just kept on pedaling.

_I must look ridiculous, _she thought ashamedly.

Finally, the car began to slow, and Jordan began to slow with it. When they turned a corner into a street, Jordan ditched the bike entirely, jumping off and tossing it into the bushes. From a distance, she watched Lincoln and Stella go inside, and it was only when they vanished from her vision that she bolted forward, dashing across a long row of unkempt lawns.

The house her partners had entered was dark. None of the lights were on. Jordan's suspicious alertness rose from a soft buzz to a blaring alarm. She felt adrenaline crashing through her as she approached the imposing building. It wasn't that large, but it seemed to loom over her like a… like a…

"Like a mansion."

Images of her dead parents and her crying younger self flashed in her mind. She didn't know what was happening, or what was going to happen, but she could feel something for sure:

Someone was going to die tonight.

And that's when she heard a loud thud in the living room.

Without another thought, Jordan rushed to the window and looked inward. The interior of the home was blanketed by pure stygian blackness. She could just vaguely make out a silhouette in the darkness. Judging from the angle it was pointing its head, whoever it was was looking downwards.

They mumbled something Jordan couldn't hear. Ears ringing and breaths heavy, she pressed her face to the plane, and waited with bated breath for the figure to do… something. When it leaned down and started dragging something away, Jordan could already tell it was dragging a person.

They got closer to the window, their carry in tow, and when the revealing light of the moon shined upon them, Jordan had to stifle a gasp.

It was Stella on the ground, being dragged away.

Her eyes were closed and her chest softly heaved, telling Jordan she was still alive. She started to exhale with relief, but she could breathe out so much before she got glimpse of who it was dragging her, and her breath was taken from her again.

Lincoln Loud… their partner in the case… their old friend from high school… was the one dragging Stella across the floor.

Stunned, Jordan watched helplessly as Lincoln dragged Stella down into the basement. Even several moments after they disappeared, Jordan was stuck in place like she had been petrified. It was a good thing, too, because if she hadn't kept staring into through the window, she might've missed a second figure – shorter and thinner than Lincoln – bound down the stairs after him.

_The Wendigo, _Jordan deduced.

The realization of what was happening quickly settled in for Jordan. She ducked under the windowsill and pressed herself to the ground, hiding in the bushes for good measure. She felt herself start to hyperventilate, but she forced herself to slow her breaths.

So Lincoln was clearly working with the Wendigo, she pieced together. Either that or… maybe the Wendigo was the both of them, committing murders and taking on each other's responsibilities at various times. Either way, it was clear that Lincoln was on the wrong side of the law. Worse still… he had Stella with him.

Jordan calmed herself before she did anything else. The first thing she did was mutter a quick prayer. She wasn't sure how much she believed in God, but she knew Stella would appreciate it. After that, she reached into her pocket for her phone, and dialed three numbers. As she pressed the phone to her cheek and listened to it buzz, she felt the whole world start to race past her. It was, quite literally, a race against time.

"_911, what's your emergency?_" she finally heard. To Jordan, it might as well have been a savior angel that asked that.

Swallowing nervously, she began to explain her situation…

* * *

"What is it?" he barked.

"Police," Lucy said. "They're coming."

Hearing this news, Lincoln's face instantly paled. Gone was his anger and imposing power… his eyes were wide with fright, like a bunny watching a hawk in the sky. The ground felt shaky under his feet; his knees buckled, and he fell to the floor. He looked back up at Lucy, and the younger girl was frightened to see terror written plainly on his face.

"Police are coming? How? How do you know?"

"Can't you hear them?" Stella suddenly piped up. She was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "Listen closely now."

He did. There was a faint sound coming from above the ground, but as faint as it was, it was also unmistakable. It was the familiar sound of police sirens as squad cars raced towards the house. Lincoln imagined an army's worth of vehicles circling the property, and for a quick moment, he couldn't feel himself breathe.

"Lincoln, what do we do?" Lucy asked.

"You could always surrender," Stella suggested helpfully.

"SHUT UP!" Lincoln roared at her. He stomped over to his hostage and pressed his knife to her throat. Baring his teeth and huffing angrily, he said, "You did this, didn't you? You brought them here. You… you must've done something. Do you have a phone? A wire? This… this was a set-up, wasn't it?!"

With every accusation, more spittle flew from his mouth to her face. Stella withstood it the best she could. She, of course, didn't have anything to do with it, but she quickly figured there was only one person who could've notified the rest of the squad: Jordan.

_Jordan's here!_

That revelation was bittersweet. Stella knew that Lincoln and Lucy would be more than happy to hurt Jordan; she had been the main thorn in their side for weeks now, after all. Deciding to preserve her friend's anonymity, she opted to lie.

"Y-Yeah, I'm wired," Stella fibbed. "I mean, did you _really_ think I was stupid enough to fall for your tricks? You're not the only one who knows how to play with people's minds, Lincoln Loud."

"You're a good actress," he complimented through grit teeth.

"_We have the house surrounded!" _The three of them heard over the speaker. _"Let the hostage go and surrender yourselves. There's no point resisting. You're outnumbered. Surrender now and no one has to get hurt."_

"Lincoln..." Lucy whined.

"I know, I know!" He scratched his head viciously trying to think of a way out. His eyes darted all over the basement looking for something to get him out of there. It could be a fucking genie's lamp for all he cared!

Sadly, there were no genie's lamps in that basement. But his eyes landed on something just as good.

He disappeared behind Stella for a moment, so she couldn't see what he was doing. Her blood turned to ice when she heard, behind her head, the unsettlingly familiar sound of someone cocking a gun. Lincoln stepped back to her side, a sawed-off shotgun in his hands.

"L-Lincoln." From the sound of her voice, even Lucy seemed stunned.

"Get out of here," he told her. "I'll hold them off. You run."

She didn't move. "Go!" he ordered.

Nodding, she ran up the stairs and left her brother behind. Lincoln slowly sighed, then turned back to Stella. "I know you're expecting me to trade you off," he said slowly, "but honestly… if I can't have you, no one should."

A cold sweat broke out over Stella's forehead. "What do you mean?"

Lincoln aimed the shotgun at her face. His face was cold and compassionless. His eyes seemed to brim with some sort of sadness – as if he had no choice in killing his one true love, and it was causing him pain – but they quickly hardened as he brought his finger to the trigger.

"Goodbye Stella," he said. "Remember...I'll always love you."

"LINCOLN, NO!"

_BANG!_


	26. Chapter 26

_BANG!_

The loud sound of a gun fired tore through the air. Stella was sure that Lincoln had pulled the trigger, but… she didn't feel dead. Braving to take a peek, she glanced up at her captor and his gun.

Lincoln's eyes were wide with shock. His mouth went slack. His grip on his weapon loosened, and it fell to the ground with a rough clatter. Stella watched as he, sputtering, lurched forward, then took an awkward step back…

...then fell to the ground.

Stella gasped when she saw the back of his head. It was an explosion of red and cherry. Hints of his skull poked out from underneath the blasted skin; so visible that Stella was forced to look away from the horrible sight to keep from shivering. Evil though he was, he was still a human being, and looking at dead people had never been Stella's strong suit.

"Stella!" the tied-up detective heard someone cry. She looked up to see Jordan of all people dropping her smoking gun on the ground and rushing over to her. She leaped over Lincoln's dead body and started to untie her bound partner. "Are you alright?" she asked through rushed breaths as she fumbled with Stella's bindings. "Did he hurt you? Do I need to get a doctor?"

"Jordan, I'm fine," Stella assured. Blushing softly, she added, "Thanks to you."

Maybe she was just tired, but she thought she saw Jordan smile.

The ropes and chains that bound Stella in her chair dropped to the floorboards beneath her. As soon as she stood up, Stella found herself on the receiving end of a crushing bear hug. Jordan wrapped her arms around her and squeezed as tightly as she could. Tears started to fall from her eyes. "You idiot," she whispered near Stella's ears. "I had to wait for reinforcements… I was so scared that maybe I'd be too late..." She couldn't stop herself from burying her face in her friend's shoulder and letting out her choking cries.

Stella was still shaken, but she put that aside for Jordan's sake. She reached up and began soothingly stroking the back of her head. "It's okay. I'm okay. Look at me, Jordan. I'm okay."

When Jordan looked up, her face was red and expressed a rare vulnerability. It was surreal for her to be so weak, and even rarer for her to openly show it. She never showed her weakness to anybody…

..._except for me_, Stella realized, _all those years ago_.

Stella planted her hands on her friend's back, and pulled her in closer. The two young women hugged each other, trading the pleasantry of each other's company without talking, breathing or even looking at each other. When they finally did, the taller girl weakly smiled at her shorter companion.

"Come on, Girl Jordan," she said, "my boyfriend-for-a-day turned out to be a serial killer and almost shot me. I'm the one who's supposed to be crying."

Jordan laughed. A shuddering, shaking laugh, but still a laugh. "Don't call me that," she chuckled.

"What? Don't call you what?"

Jordan rolled her eyes, still smiling. "Girl Jordan. Don't call me Girl Jordan."

"Okay… Girl Jordan."

She decided to let that one slide. Her teasing was just proof that she was alive.

When the two girls broke apart, Jordan tried to get back into her serious mode. She glanced down at Lincoln's corpse with stony disregard. Kicking his leg to check for a reaction, she glanced back at her newly-freed partner and asked, "So Lincoln was the Wendigo all along, huh? That other person I saw was his accomplice, I assume?"

Stella nodded. "That was actually his younger sister, Lucy."

"Lucy?" The image of a small, shy eight year old girl came to Jordan's mind. She remembered the name "Lucy Loud" from a poetry recital she had gone to once, where she watched a petite gothic child read a moving poem about her older sister. _That_ cute little girl had grown up to become a killer? "I knew his sister since she was a little kid. I can't believe that she-"

She stopped talking when she noticed the nauseous look on her fellow detective's face. "Are you not telling me something?" she demanded.

"She… they… well, let's just say killing people isn't the only sin they did… together..."

It took Jordan a minute to realize what Stella was saying. When she did, her face turned green. "That's disgusting," she muttered with revolution.

Stella could only nod in agreement.

"So the two of them ended up in an incestuous relationship… is that why Lincoln got kicked out of his house?"

"Damn, you're quick. And yeah, it is. He and Lucy both got kicked out, she ended up going nuts and started thinking she was a vampire or something, and Lincoln started killing people for her. And when he was busy with us, she was the one doing the killings."

"Hmm. Wouldn't be surprised if they coordinated that. After all, if we profiled the Wendigo as a young female, Lincoln would've had an easier time breathing."

Stella glanced down at his body, her face twisting with sadness and revulsion. "Doesn't seem like that did him any good in the end," she pointed out.

Before another word was uttered, the two girls heard someone upstairs bust open the front door. "COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!" they heard an officer scream. "ONE WRONG MOVE AND WE'LL FUCKING SHOOT!"

"They must've heard the gunshot," Jordan noted. "Shit. Okay, just put your hands up and walk with me," she told Stella. Throwing up her hands in the air, and watching as Stella did the same, she called back, "We're coming! Detective Stella and I are coming up the stairs alone!"

They ascended with their hands suspended. The tips of their fingers scraped against the rough plaster that hung above them. When Jordan stepped into the ground floor, she was greeted by three fellow officers with their weapons – two guns and a taser – aimed in her direction. She shook her head, indicating that there were no hostiles in police code, so the cops lowered their weapons.

"Jordan, Stella." Captain Rodriguez pushed his inferiors out of his way as he rushed to the detectives. Pausing to catch his breath, he glared at them with deathly serious eyes. "Are you two alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Jordan muttered. She poked Stella with her elbow and said, "This one might need a cup of hot cocoa, though."

The Hispanic man chuckled before his face darkened again. "Where's the Wendigo?"

"Downstairs. I… oh my God, I shot him."

It didn't really hit Jordan until then that she had just… _killed_ someone. And not just anyone: she had killed Lincoln. Murderous psycho though he turned out to be, he was still someone she knew, someone she was close to… and she had killed him while his back was turned.

It didn't hit her before, but now, the realization felt like a powerful train slamming into her. Her knees felt weak, and if it wasn't for Stella grabbing her, she would've fell.

"_I shot him,_" Jordan repeated in a horrified whisper.

"I...I'll take care of her," Stella told the captain. "The Wendigo was two people. One ran away on foot, so your men might be able to catch up to her. The other is… waiting for you in the basement."

"U-Understood. Take care of yourselves now. And take the rest of the week off. You two earned it."

Stella graciously nodded. "Thank you."

Rodriguez's face suddenly burst into a smile. He chuckled lowly to himself. "You girls did it," he said, almost like he was saying it to himself. "You two stopped the Wendigo. I knew you could do it."

They did, but their victory felt much emptier than expected. As Stella helped lead Jordan away from it all, she noticed that she felt… hollow. This was their victory, their triumph. They had finally solved the mystery of who the Wendigo was, and helped put a stop to their evils for good. It was supposed to be a great occasion, but at the end of it all, it was as bittersweet as the hot chocolate the two detectives were given.

Lincoln was the Wendigo, and Jordan had his blood on her hands.

Somehow Stella knew that the memories of this night would haunt her just as much as the memories of her dead parents.

_But it'll be okay in the end, _Stella thought as she pressed her arm up against Jordan's. _Because, just like last time... I'll be with her the whole way._

* * *

**There's probably only two chapters left for this story. Thank you for reading up until this point, and I hope you stay tuned for what comes next.**


	27. Chapter 27

**I got a few reviews and messages and stuff asking about status of Jordellacoln in this story – presumably a major draw for many readers. I'll talk more about it next time in my concluding notes, but for now: as I wrote this story, my writing deviated a lot from the rough outline I had written for it. That's how crafting a story works; you have to let it flow the way it wants, rather than force it to take a certain path. So while I had planned for Jordellacoln to be a thing (at least before the big reveal), it didn't end up that way. I'll be changing the tags soon to reflect this, and I'd like to say sorry if anyone feels misled. Hopefully you've enjoyed the story in spite of that.**

* * *

Sirens wailed behind her as Lucy fled the scene. Her frail body wasn't used the swift speed she needed to escape, and within moments she was coughing and out of breath. She glanced behind her, and saw flashlights shining and shaking, their bright beams poking through the mist. Police officers, she knew, chasing after her. And maybe she wasn't hearing properly, but she thought she heard the aggressive barking of dogs not too far away, and it made her shiver.

_K9, _she thought in terror.

Terror… that was a new emotion for her. For so long, she and Lincoln had been the hunters. They were the ones who inspired terror. Lucy, now the hunted, imagined that the macabre little girl she had once been would be proud of all the fear she managed to instill in the souls of the people… but somehow she also felt that she wouldn't be at all.

That realization hurt her chest more than the odd throbbings of her heart.

She couldn't run anymore; her only other option was to hide. She ducked into the bushes and kept her head low as footsteps came closer. She covered her gasping mouth with her hand, her obscured eyes brimming with frightful tears. Her heart pounded against the earth from both fatigue and fear, and Lucy wished, more than anything, that Lincoln was there for her.

But he wasn't. He was probably never going to be there for her again. Lucy wasn't stupid – she knew that Lincoln was probably dead. Killed by one of those two sluts he had tried to mess with. Lucy knew she shouldn't have let him, but she had always been convinced by his reassurances. "_I'm just doing this to get them off my trail," _he had said to her as he cradled her cheek lovingly. _"You're still the only girl for me, Lucy. Don't ever forget that."_

He was more than a brother to her. He was her one true love. The red strings that connected their souls were stronger than the limits of their blood-related bodies. He was the only one for her. He was perfect. He was smart. He was kind. He was honest. He was…

...dead.

_He's dead now_, Lucy thought, _and nothing will ever bring him back._

She thought about using her vampire powers to do it, but those wouldn't cut. The only thing they did for her was give her a craving for blood. And, at this point, Lucy was starting to wonder if she really even was a vampire…

A beam of light passed over the shrubbery she hid under, and Lucy had to stifle a whimper. She wished she could have time to mourn or plot revenge, but for now she had to keep herself out of their hands. Lincoln had d-died for her, so she couldn't let his sacrifice go to waste. As soon as the light faded, Lucy got on her feet and started running again. She jumped over a tall fence, dashed across someone's backyard, and ran into the streets.

At this point, she made no attempt at keeping a low cover. She ran wildly through the night, her arms flailing and her legs pumping. She remembered that long ago, she had a sister that liked jogging at night (_What was her name? Lana? Leni? Dammit, WHAT WAS HER NAME?!_) and knew that if she were around, she would've chastised her for her terrible running form. And Lucy would let her, as long as she kept her safe from the police. Would any of her sisters protect her now? Would they, if they knew what she and Lincoln had done?

She felt water spilling from her eyes again, so she forced herself to stop thinking about it and keep running.

When she was forced to stop again, she collapsed at a nearby bus stop. The lighting surrounding it was dim, but it managed to brighten the scene a little. Struggling to breathe, Lucy glanced up and saw that the bus stop had a small, air-conditioned room that was closed off from the rest of the world. It was the perfect place to hide for a little while.

She hobbled inside on weak legs, and closed the door behind her. Leaning on it, she slid to the ground, a sweating and panting mess.

What was she supposed to do now? Where was she supposed to go? She was so used to following Lincoln around and listening to what he said that… she didn't even know anymore. She was crushed under the weight of how lost she felt. She clutched her chest; she could barely breathe. Her mind was going blank as the infinite possibilities in front of her all meshed together into this pure white void.

Maybe she was coming at this the wrong way. Maybe… maybe she didn't make it out of there. Maybe she had died already. Maybe this was Hell, and her punishment had already started. She was being punished for leaving her loyal, sweet brother behind. She left him to die, and now she was lost in the dark streets of Limbo. She had no doubt that Lincoln was in Heaven now, and he was looking down at her with disdain.

"_I-I'm sorry, Lincoln,_" Lucy choked. Tears ran down her face as she began to sob. "_I'm so sorry._"

In her hiding place, Lucy cried. She shook and rocked herself as the streams of sadness poured down from her brown eyes. Her breath hitched with every time she thought of her brother. She found herself curling up into a ball, burying her face into her knees and just listening for any noises outside. It was all quiet except for the sounds of her sadness.

"Being sad isn't going to help you_," _the young woman told herself. "You need to focus on keeping yourself well enough to escape. I think you need… we need a drink..."

It wasn't just a normal thirst that struck Lucy at that moment. She didn't want water or soda.

She needed blood.

She stood up and looked out the door, hoping for a passerby. She needed someone to feed from. Where else was she supposed to get that precious fluid? Where else was she supposed to find the only drink that could truly slake her thirst?

Her heart thumped when she remembered that she was full of blood.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, two officers, both with flashlights in hand, came upon the bus stop. The sky above them was a dark gray blanket. Just as one of them put his hand on the door, the two of them found themselves looking up to see that flecks of pale snow were beginning to fall to the earth. Grunting to his partner that he wished he had brought a jacket, the officer opened the door… and immediately fell back.

Inside the small room was a young woman, her hair blacker than night. She lay slumped on the ground, her legs crooked at a painful angle. Her hands were at her neck, her blood-soaked fingers digging into her throat.

The officers checked her face, and they saw something they would never forget.

Two lips, curved into an unnerving smile, dripping with the girl's own blood.


	28. Chapter 28

It was a beautiful day in Royal Woods, which was a recurrence in Spring. For the past few days, the town had been blessed with light drizzles that brought a fresh sense of life to the air, but today the rains stopped and sunlight took its place. As rays of light pelted buildings below, a young woman dressed in a casual white hoodie, a plain T-shirt with a star embellishing it, and a black dress, stepped into a local cafe. The line to the counter was thankfully short, so she didn't have to wait long to put in her order of two coffees.

"Actually," she said, "can you change that? Make it one coffee, one mocha."

The barista nodded. "Names?"

"Coffee for Jordan Taber, and the mocha for Stella Ang. That's me, by the way."

Again, the barista nodded, without a word this time. She didn't seem like much of a talker, which Stella felt was a shame. But whatever, she wasn't her mother. Or her speech coach. Or her… someone else who would be encouraging her to speak more.

When the drinks were completed, Stella took them in a tray and headed right for the seats by the window. She sat down and took a moment to enjoy the nice feeling of the Sun on her arms. Summer wasn't too far away, so Stella knew she had to enjoy the sunlight while she still could. In a few weeks, it would be scalding rather than relaxing.

The door of the cafe opened again, and Stella watched as her favorite person in the world stepped in. "Jordan, over here!" She waved to her. Jordan, looking a little unsure with herself, went over to Stella's space.

"Sorry I'm late," she apologized. "I got a bit caught up at the pharmacy. A-And trying to choose some clothes. Um… how do I look?"

Usually, when Jordan dressed in civilian clothes, she kept it simple: a pair of jeans and a plain yellow shirt. And while she was still wearing her usual jeans, her shirt wasn't a solid yellow. Instead it was a soft shade of pink, adorned by a flower above her bosom. She also wore a bracelet around her wrist, and beautiful gemstone earrings. From the way she was blushing and awkwardly glancing off to the side, she clearly dressed this way for Stella.

Her partner realized that, blushed heartily, and stammered, "You look r-really g-good, Jordan. A b-bit too good, actually. It's just a cafe heh heh... but still, you look amazing"

Hearing that made Jordan beam. She had such a wonderful smile.

She took the seat in front of Stella, and her smile flipped into a scowl. "Did you really have to choose the window seats? The Sun's burning me," she complained.

Stella shrugged. "I like it."

Jordan looked like she was ready to argue, but simmered down and expressed her discontent with little more than a sigh. "Fine," she relented, "but we're only sitting here because I'm in a good mood, and that makes me a little more generous."

"Sure. Whatever you say, princess. Just drink your coffee, it's getting cold."

For a while, the two women sat together in silence, perfectly fine with doing nothing other than sipping their drinks and watching the other patrons. One young man caught Stella's eye – he had been staring at her for a little while now, but also glancing at Jordan with a quizzical look in his eyes. It seemed like he wanted to walk up to her and start a conversation, but couldn't decide if the brunette sitting next to her was just a friend or a girlfriend.

_Keep guessing, _Stella smirked.

"You said you were at the pharmacy?" she asked Jordan, breaking a bit of the ice between the two of them. "How did it go? You got what you needed?"

"Yeah." Jordan nodded. "Pretty soon I'll be off the stuff completely, though. Even if I forget to take it, I still don't end up with nightmares."

"That's great!" Stella cheered.

Ever since that... horrible night last year, when the two of them discovered that their childhood friend Lincoln Loud had grown up to become a serial murderer and Jordan was forced to put him down, the poor woman had been plagued by harrowing guilt. She didn't develop PTSD or anything extreme, but for a long while, the fact that she took a life – even if said life was that of a killer – weighed down on her. She would fly into sudden rages and equally-sudden bouts of crying, but otherwise go through life without feeling... anything. At night was when the real problems started: nightmares and hallucinations tormented her sleep. If it wasn't for the medicine she had been prescribed, she wouldn't know what else to rely on.

Actually… she did know.

Her night terrors forced her to shamefully seek out Stella and invite her into her bed. Something about listening to the taller girl's soft heartbeat seemed to calm Jordan down. Eventually, Stella's bed was left to gather dust as she became a nightly resident of Jordan's room. It was during one such night that the two started talking, and before she knew it, Jordan was spilling her true feelings to her friend, much to the latter's surprise.

They made love that night. And almost every night since.

But this time they didn't pussyfoot around the issue of what they called themselves: they were girlfriends, plain and simple. It wasn't a fad or some emotional crutch either. They were grown-ups now, and they knew it was about time to stop acting so immaturely about being together.

Jordan's hand snaked over to Stella's, and swiftly wrapped itself around digits, squeezing them tightly. Stella's hand moved, and soon the two were interlocking fingers. They looked into each other's eyes, and love crackled in their gazes.

"Excuse me."

The women forced themselves to look away from each other to the stranger that had interrupted them. It was a young teenage girl with messy brown hair, dressed in a lab coat with what looked like a green turtleneck sweater underneath. She adjusted her glasses before leaning in uncomfortably close to Jordan's face, then to Stella's. "Are you two Detectives Jordan Taber and Stella Ang?"

"Depends who's asking," Jordan said, a combative edge to her voice.

"No need for the aggression, Detective Taber. I'm no hostile." The teenager sighed sadly, then said, "My name is Lisa. Lisa Loud."

The girl's last name sent a shiver down Jordan's spine.

"I can tell from how tense you became after my admission of my being a Loud that you're frightened of me," Lisa said, "but I assure you that I'm perfectly harmless. I have no intentions of exacting revenge or anything silly like that. I just… want to talk about my brother and sister."

"Well I don't want to talk."

"Jordan," Stella hissed. She looked back at Lisa and uneasily smiled at her. "Of course. Would you like to sit down?"

"I'll stand. I don't want to interrupt your romantic outgoing for too long, nor do I wish to hear all the… more unfortunate details of Lincoln and Lucy's crimes. But before we start, I'd just like to reassure you that while I, as well as many of my siblings, are immensely saddened by what happened to Lincoln and Lucy… well, it wouldn't be fair to hold it against you both. You did what you had to... t-to protect Royal Woods."

"Thank you. And I'm sorry for your loss."

Lisa visibly suppressed a shudder. Despite her cold, scientific exterior, Stella was willing to bet that she was in a lot of pain inside. Talking about the death of family members wasn't easy; talking with the people who caused said deaths was less so. "Thank you for your condolences," Lisa finally said. "What I mainly wanted to ask about my brother and sister… were their deaths painless?"

"Were their deaths p-painless?" Stella repeated.

The bespectacled girl nodded.

Stella glanced nervously at Jordan, hoping she wouldn't be set off. If she was bothered by the question, she didn't show it. So, coughing lightly, Stella chose to answer. She was ready to say that neither of them died in pain… but one look into Lisa's inquisitive eyes, and Stella knew the girl wouldn't want a lie.

"Lincoln died instantly. No pain there. But Lucy… well, neither of us were there, but I'd guess that clawing your throat out would be painful."

"Is that how she died?"

She sound mortified and shocked. Stella didn't realize that the press had left that detail out. Stella nodded to confirm, and Lisa fell silent. She hovered over them for a few more wordless moments, before sighing and saying, "Lincoln and Lucy… weren't well. I don't know what matter of illness was inflicted upon them that would drive them to… commit the acts they did, but I know that if I had the expertise then that I have now… I might have been able to prevent this entire tragedy. I might have been able to save them."

"You can't blame yourself," Stella tried to reassure.

"But I can. And I very likely will. Still, my gratitude for your reassurances."

"Of course. Is there… anything else you'd like me to tell you?"

The teenager considered it for a moment, then shook her head, her bushy hair swaying as she did. "I have more questions, but in light of what you've told me… I believe I'd rather not know." Straightening herself, she said, "I'm sorry for bothering you. Please enjoy your caffeinated beverages."

As she started walking away, she heard Jordan shout, "Lisa!" Turning around out of curiosity, she watched Jordan get up from her seat and walk over to her. For a moment, Lisa imagined the detective would punch her, so she flinched as she got close. Jordan raised her hand, but rather than it coming down as a blow to the face, she clapped it on Lisa's shoulder.

"We went through some of your brother's belongings after his death," she told the younger girl. "One of the things we found was an old family picture, with him surrounded by all of his sisters. He looked, I'd say, eleven in the picture. But the point is… compared to everything else he owned, that photograph was the most well-preserved of his possessions. And he kept it close to where he slept. Despite everything… I don't think he ever stopped caring about his family. I'm sure that he still loved you at the end."

Jordan watched as Lisa's lower lip quivered. A tremble rattled the girl's body. Behind her glasses, in her soulful eyes, Jordan could see the start of droplets. Before they could spill over as tears, Lisa reached up and started wiping at her eyes with her lab coat's sleeve.

"That's… I… I have to go now."

The girl reached up and gently brushed Jordan's hand from her shoulder. She turned in her place, pausing as another shiver ripped through her, then resumed walking away. Jordan thought about stopping her and wrapping her in the hug she clearly needed, but before she could act on that instinct, Lisa was gone.

_Probably for the better_, Jordan thought. _It... it might've been weird if I hugged her._

Jordan looked over her shoulder back at Stella. "You going to be okay?" Stella asked.

"Yeah. I think I'll be fine."

"Okay. So… what do you want to do now?"

The world, at that moment, seemed filled with infinite possibilities. Jordan knew her place in that infinity was here in Royal Woods, solving mysteries and arresting criminals. There was still work to be done in that field. Everything type of American criminal, from petty thieves to elite-class embezzlers, was out there, waiting for someone to slap a pair of handcuffs around their wrists.

But… maybe they could keep waiting. Just for a day or two.

"Let's just... get some donuts from Loni's."

* * *

**It's finally over. 50K+ words in a month… and with a day to spare. Neato. Writing is, in my opinion, a lot like picking a fight. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, but most importantly, you can never know how exactly the fight is going to go. With that in mind, let's talk about a few things:**

**1\. Regarding Jordellacoln: my original intention was to have Lincoln seduce both Jordan and Stella (with a sex scene for both) before he revealed what he truly was. You'll even notice that, in the beginning of the story, I hinted that Jordan had a crush on Lincoln. That didn't come to manifest for two reasons: I underestimated how much and how little can happen in 50k words, and I felt having a threeway pairing would detract from Stella's journey (more on that below). Again, I'm sorry I couldn't do it if that's what you were reading for.**

**2\. On the subject of Stella, I can't help but feel like she was the main character of the story. Sure, technically all three of them were the main characters, but I feel like she's the one that got the most development and insight. That might be because I'm slowly becoming a Stellafag. Season 4 has helped prod me in that direction.**

**3\. Some people weren't happy about me including Loudcest. Honestly, it's not especially romantic, and it's meant to come across as more creepy and gross (Auto's become a safie **_**yuck**_**). I just find it amusing that in a story featuring murder, cannibalism, and prostitution, Lucycoln is apparently crossing the line lol**

**Special thanks, again, to The Siege Perilous for helping come up with this idea (I don't think he realized how graphic I'd make it), Omega Ultra for encouraging me to do NaNoWriMo (check out his NaNo fic as well, it's great!), and both anonymous789 and Jeff for being such dedicated reviewers (you guys deserve more credit :weary:).**

**Anyway, I heard Javi's second Samcoln child has been born, so I'm going to go check that out. Story's over now. Goodbye. You can leave now. Go away.**


End file.
